


King of the Ash-woven Outcasts

by red_rook



Series: The Trials of Vivec [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, bildungsroman, gay shit, ill add characters and relationships as the story progresses, yes im pretentious enough to use the word 'bildungsroman'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_rook/pseuds/red_rook
Summary: One of the many walking ways that could have led a lonely netchiman's child to become the powerful Tribune Vivec, and his deeply complicated relationship with Serjo Indoril Nerevar Mora. This one focuses way less on CHIM and is less lore-centric than its sequel. Basically it has only a little convoluted bullshit and lots of feelies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not to be annoying but please leave comments so i can get a better judge of how people are reacting to this story :)) they really brighten my day too so yeah if u've got a few moments to spare i'd really appreciate it

The netchiman’s child was alone tonight.

Faced with the prospects of sharing spears with an unscrupulous Nord captain for a pittance of coin, staying out in the open for the night, or sneaking into a nearby cornerclub in the hopes of a successful pocket-picking, he had chosen the third. Tomorrow he would be a throat-slitter and a whore. Tomorrow he would be resplendent in his depraved glory, when his gang returned to him from where they were trapped in jail for the night.

    Tonight, though, he was nothing again.

He watched as a pair of dusty worn sandals passed by. They belonged to a handsome Chimer, young and strapping, demeanor relaxed. Something about the mer grabbed and held firm his attention, and he could not tear his gaze away.

    The mer ordered a cask of flin. Rich, apparently, _and_ stupid- as if a cornerclub in a street filled with ash-woven outcasts and broken things would serve anything but pisswater with a marked-up price.

The whelp-wench took up in his palm a sixth-dram he had stolen from a drunken patron. Heads and the flin-buying mer would be relieved of his riches. Tails and there would be no hot saltrice in the whore’s belly to warm him til the dawn’s grey light.

The coin landed heads.

Now the netchiman’s child watched the Chimer far more closely. He saw, instantly, the bulge in the mer’s netch-leather pants that was the telltale coin-purse. It would be so easy to snag, if not for the sword on the mer’s back that just barely grazed the bulge at the mer’s every movement. The sword seemed to be tauntingly pointing towards the coin, as if daring anyone to try and fetch it. If he made the wrong move, this mer could slice him end to end with that sword. That would be the end to the story of the netchiman’s child: an ending filled with humiliation and pain, befitting the wretch he was.

So he hesitated, instead. Then he and the mer met eyes, if only for a brief moment, and by Mephala was this Chimer good-looking. If he’d been a whore he would have no competition. This was always the trouble with beautiful people; he could never decide if he wanted to _be_ them, or _do_ them. Then the Chimer was smiling and heading towards the daggerlad like a scrib entering the maw of the cliff-racer.

Before the nameless thief could make a move, the mer began: “I happened to notice your gaze flicker past my face once or twice. Do we know each other?” He smiled pleasantly, as if they were merchants talking politics instead of a mer talking down to a filthy street urchin in the dead of night.

“No. I-” and the gutter-get quickly realised another way to liberate this mer’s coin from his pockets- “I couldn’t help but notice your beauty, serjo. I’d love to be yours for a night, for a price. Come, milord- I can love you as Chimer do- I can give it to you the way the Saliache do, weak-kneed and weeping.”

    The mer blinked, and then looked the whore up-and-down once, twice. “No,” he decided. “It is clear you're only a boy. Why are you offering these services at such a place? Where are your parents?”

    For a brief moment he hated the mer for his do-goodery. “My looks don’t reflect my age, serjo. I’m a man at seventeen years.”

    The mer smiled again, sadly. “That is still a boy to me, I am afraid. But, boy- this might be rather sudden- I am in need of an extra hand these next few weeks as we make our way towards Vvardenfell. You seem to be capable, and strong, and far wiser than your years. Should you like to follow this canvasari guard captain for a while? I pay handsomely, and you would have warm food every day with a good place to sleep.”

    The netchiman’s child was nonplussed. Here this mer he had been planning to rob blind was now offering him a respite from the Nord-made hell of the gutters in Mournhold.

“What sort of stuff would I do?” he asked, to keep the mer’s mouth busy while his own mind worked furiously.

    “Load the caravan with goods, help with the gathering and preparation of our meals, simple things. If you can fight worth a damn, perhaps we shall see you indulge in some of that in order to defend the caravan. A plum job, I expect, compared to some other things a boy like you could be doing in the backstreets of Mournhold. And a job that is far more worthy of a boy with potential.”

    “I’ll do it.” The last sentence the canvasari guard captain had uttered had made up his mind for him.  

    “I had hoped you might say that.” The mer squeezed the thief’s arm briefly, reassuringly. The ghost of his hand’s warmth lingered. “I'll be attending the princess Almalexia’s ceremony tomorrow morning in the main streets of Mournhold. Find me there, if by then you still wish to take the job. I shall know you by this sword, which bears my personal sigil.”

    The sword that was taunting him only minutes ago was now being unsheathed by the canvasari guard, and then laid lightly in its new owner’s lap. He picked it up, felt the cold shock of metal beneath his fingers as the mer continued:  
    “I bought a new sword just today, so I have no need for this one. Regardless. The crowd, I suspect, shall be huge, but if you have difficulty finding us, do not worry. We will linger for an hour after the ceremony is over to wait for you, if need be.”

    “You never said your name. Serjo.”  
    “Hmm?”  
    “Shouldn’t I know you by a name if I’m to work for you?” The words _thank you_ did not seem even remotely able to cover the swell of emotions stirring within his heart. Giving this mer a name, a rare honour in the streets of Mournhold, would have to suffice.

    “Ah, of course. My name is Nerevar. An odd name for a Chimer, I’m aware, but I’m afraid I'm quite the odd Chimer with or without the name.”

    The daggerlad’s eyes shone as he committed the name to his heart. “Then I’ll see you in the morning, milord.”

    Nerevar nodded slowly, then rose from his chair, discreetly pouring his barely-touched ‘flin’ into another patron’s glass as he left. The netchiman’s child never looked up as Nerevar left the cornerclub, instead running his fingers along the blade of Nerevar’s former sword.

    Upon reaching the hilt, his fingers caught on the sigil of a moon-and-star.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to say i now only have one week of my internship left which means i'll soon have a loooot more time to write up chapters, shit's lit

The sun shone brightly on the streets of Mournhold, glistening from the remaining murk of a rain three nights ago. Though the procession was not due to start for another half-hour, crowds had already begun to gather. Everyone worth knowing in the city was obsessed with the new Indoril princess, Almalexia: she was beautiful, and charming, and intelligent by all accounts. Even a nameless netchiman’s child had heard of the rumours that she was finally beginning to look for a marriage mate; hence, the big fuss around her latest debut.

As people waited to catch a glimpse of the princess, a daggerlad slipped through the shadows, looking to find a completely different target. He had thought long about what he should do; whether it was worth the risk of death, or worse. 

But the gutter-get’s mind was made up for him when he visited the jail his gang was being held at only to find all their throats slit. And thus, the daggerlad was on the hunt. Luckily, Nerevar and the other members of the canvasari crew were not difficult to miss.

Nerevar saw him before any of the other canvasari members, and waved gaily at him. He picked up his pace a little and before long was by Nerevar’s side.

“You know,” Nerevar commented lightly, “I realised as I made my bed in an inn nearby that I had never asked you your name, boy.”

“It didn’t matter anyway, because until today I had no name. Just one of the gutter-gets, nothing more. Today my name’s Vehk.”

“Vehk?” Nerevar repeated, looking at him strangely. “Just… Vehk?”

“Just Vehk, muthsera.” Vehk confirmed, suddenly too solemn for a skinny little Chimer with hands streaked in grime. “A new name for a new life with you.”

“You are a poet, Vehk,” Nerevar marveled. “Had I known, I would have hired you even faster.”

“Does he sing too?” the Argonian next to Nerevar cut in sardonically. He was handsome too, for a beastfolk: a thick scaled brow complemented by a sturdy jaw. His amber eyes were fixated on Vehk with a deep-seated air of annoyance.

“Be nice, J’Ram-Shei,” Nerevar scolded his fellow guard, who only snorted. “The boy will do us much good. I saw a good omen in the stars at dawn. Three bright stars representing the Good Daedra. It must mean they are watching over us now.”

“Or maybe you saw three dust specks on the inn window,” J’Ram-Shei scoffed. “You and your omens.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nerevar snapped. “No, really, hush, all of you lot. I see the procession in the distance.”

Sure enough, Vehk too could see the princess’s litter surrounded by a cavalcade of guards in the distance. The whole crowd seemed to be waiting with bated breath as the procession drew nearer. 

Then the princess’s face was finally visible atop her litter, and she waved to the crowd, and everyone erupted in cheers all at once. Vehk looked over at Nerevar and saw that he was gazing agog at Almalexia. It was not hard to see why; her skin shone as if it were woven with the finest golden silk-threads, and her hair in the morning light truly looked as if it were aflame. 

Vehk clapped, a little awkward, as Chimer everywhere yelled things lost in the swell of the crowd.

When the litter was near the palace steps, coincidentally very, very close to Nerevar and the canvasari crew, Almalexia signaled for the procession to pause. She smiled widely, beneficently, and raised three fingers in the air. From each finger spurted a jet of thin golden flame that fanned out a hundred feet up in the sky. Everyone gasped as, suddenly, the flame exploded into a million sparkles that drifted harmlessly onto their heads. Almalexia disappeared behind the palace doors amid cheers and applause. 

Vehk felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around, ready to strike, only to find it was Nerevar steering him through the throng of mer bustling about. The canvasari traveled huddled in a group through streets and alleyways, not stopping until they were out of the way in a smaller town square of emptied shops. 

“Can you believe all these shopkeepers left their work to go see the princess?” a heavyset female Chimer guard marveled.

Nerevar’s eyes had a faraway look to them. “Maybe someday I will be worthy of a woman as powerful and beautiful as she.”

“Didn’t know being able to do a couple magic tricks means you’re a full-blown princess these days,” J’Ram-Shei muttered, tail twitching. 

J’Ram-Shei’s comment seemed to have brought Nerevar down to earth very quickly, and Nerevar’s tone was far more brusque as he said, “Now that we have a crew of six, including the new boy Vehk, it’s best we set off for Vvardenfell as soon as possible. There’s no reason to dally here in Mournhold; it’s packed with Nords. There’ll be enemies left and right.”

“We don’t have enough supplies for a long trek,” a lanky Khajiit pointed out, eyes glittering green. “With all six of us marching through rough terrain…”

“What if we head for the Ascadian Isles? If we can make it to Ebonheart, through Stonefalls, we should be able to catch a ship to Vvardenfell. The only problem is, we’d need some magic to make it across all the lava flows and cliffs.” Nerevar’s eyebrows were drawn together, deep in thought.

“Only Khovasi knows how to do Alteration spells. The rest of us are shit with that type of magic, Cap, you know this.” 

“Vehk.” All eyes turned to him immediately. “Do you have any skill with Alteration?”

Vehk grimaced. “I know the Open spell. Not too much chance to learn any magic when you’re a boy whore.”

There were mutinous grumbles among the rest of the canvasari crew, and Nerevar breathed in deeply, eyes closed. Then Nerevar’s eyes opened, and they were clear.

“Things are looking a little rough now, I know. But I promise we’ll truly take revenge on the Nords if you choose to stay by me.”

“We believe in you,” the female Chimer spoke up. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have followed you. Shouldn’t we move on now, like you said? The night is filled with cutthroats.”

Nerevar nodded, looking distinctly relieved, and the canvasari set off once again towards the outskirts of the city with renewed vigor. It was not til they were deep in the grasslands that the six guar pulling the canvasari began to buck and dig in their heels out of sheer exhaustion. There they made camp. 

Vehk slinked towards Nerevar’s bedroll, where he appeared to be meditating. He placed his fingers lightly on the older mer’s knee, which caused him to start. Blinking rapidly, he peered blearily at Vehk until recognising him. 

His signature easy smile returning, Nerevar asked, “What did you need, little daggerlad?”

“Answers,” Vehk responded. “Where’s your canvasari merchant? Where’s the rest of the guards?”

Nerevar’s smile tightened briefly. “It’s a long story, so I’ll try to make it quick. Our Nord merchant was, to be blunt, a s’wit and a fetcher. This we tolerated until we found out he was trading secret information in Resdayn to sell to his n’wah friends in Skyrim. High treason!”

“Worried about getting caught helping him?”

“Perhaps the others were. I was disgusted by the slight to my honour, so I killed him before he could leech off of Mournhold’s secrets. The schism between us meant that three other guards lay dead by the end of it. Five fled. The rest chose to stay with me and the canvasari.”

Vehk nodded slowly, barely visible in the camp fire’s flickering light. “Strange to me that they’d follow you after such a shitstorm. What’s the whole canvasari haul worth?”

“It’s not about the money!” Nerevar asserted, eyes briefly blazing. “It’s about honour and loyalty to Resdayn. The ones who stayed are my friends and they love this province as much as I do.”

“You’ve got a lot of great ideas for a canvasari guard captain,” Vehk commented, quickly circumspect in the face of Nerevar’s sudden show of passion.

“I do,” Nerevar admitted. “Perhaps my dreams are unseemly for a mer of my station, but I hold onto them anyway. Sometimes they are all I have.”

“What dreams do you have, serjo?” Vehk tilted his head slightly, and the campfire’s flickering light suddenly danced in his eyes.

“I dream of wiping the Nords’ injustices from Resdayn. I dream of the Great Six Houses becoming united under one so that the Chimer may be as glorious as they were in the days of Veloth. I dream of someday watching the Chimer become the hegemon of Tamriel.”

Vehk snorted. “Have you been hitting the skooma, milord?”

Nerevar flushed. “I owe it to my friends, these good canvasari guards that have followed me, to at least try. They deserve better. Resdaynia deserves better.”

“I hope you make it,” Vehk said sincerely. At that Nerevar’s smile returned, and seeing it brought forth a warm feeling inside Vehk that he could not quite describe. “Can I give advice?”

“Please, feel free.”

“You aren’t getting anywhere if you don’t know how to be a leader. You need to be flashy. You need to be exciting. That’s how you get them to all follow you. You aren’t getting anywhere without an army, and you aren’t getting an army without some of that attitude.”

“Charisma?”

“Yes, that,” Vehk said, embarrassed at not knowing the word. “You’re way too unsteady now. Be stronger. I don’t know shit about court intrigue, but there are leaders and followers even in dogs.”

Nerevar laughed at that. “You are very honest, little kena. I like that. I do hope you will stay with us long.” He reached over to ruffle Vehk’s hair, and the younger mer shivered slightly at the sensation. 

“Me too,” Vehk whispered back to him, and together they watched the stars as they drifted off to sleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

    They made their way northwest from Mournhold, off the gently-beaten path. Deshaan was a kind province, full of gently rolling plains and giggling creeks with only the spare alit and kagouti as adversaries. The ragged little group made good use of the brief respite from battle to relax. 

    Nerevar led them, stately as ever on his grey mare. The rest either followed him at a more leisurely pace or rested for short periods on the caravan. Throughout the span of the few days they spent spanning the plains Vehk became familiar with all the other members of the canvasari.

There was Narhil, the lanky Chimer with a thick facial scar circling a ragged eyepatch.

J’Ram-Shei, the usually irate Argonian from before. 

Varda, the stocky Chimer with a kind smile and mysterious tattoos.

And finally Khovasi, the Khajiit who was quiet and always wore a faraway look. 

Out of everyone Varda was the first to start talking to Vehk. It was the morning after their first day out on the road. Narhil had prepared a feast of kwama egg and saltrice, and Varda had taken it upon herself to serve the canvasari. 

She’d knelt next to Vehk and whispered, “I don’t know you very well, boy, but any mer could plain see how skin-and-bones you are. You make sure to eat up.” And had proceeded to give him a generous extra helping. 

J’Ram-Shei was nowhere near as charitable, however. Later on in the day, when Vehk asked Narhil, hesitantly, if the canvasari ate that much every day, J’Ram-Shei had turned and growled, “Don’t get used to it. With a new mouth to feed we’re bound to starve halfway through Stonefalls.”

“Shove off,” Narhil retorted, clapping the Argonian on the back. “I counted and recounted our rations. We’re in no danger of running out. Leave the kid alone.”

    J’Ram-Shei grumbled something under his breath and turned away. Narhil gave Vehk a quick glance, and Vehk was surprised to see in his deep brown eye a glimmer of gentleness. 

    That night at camp Khovasi approached him for the first time. She was nearly as slender as Vehk was, Vehk noticed. He briefly wondered how she’d managed to get the grueling job of a canvasari crewmember, quickly pushing aside the thought as she began to speak.

    “Nerevar asked me to train you as much as I can in different magicks. None of the others have much potential in magic, and it is vital to have as many magic users on the team as possible.”

“Where’d you learn to speak so well?” Vehk blurted. He’d never met a Khajiit so articulate in the gutters of Mournhold; they had all been bitter mangy creatures, preying on young hopeless Chimer to get them hooked on the moon’s drug. 

Khovasi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Not all Khajiit are sugar-sick fools. I was trained in the art by masters.” Vehk’s face reddened quickly, and the mage continued. “I shall begin by teaching you Levitate. It is difficult. I do not expect you to manage it on your first try.”

She touched his head lightly, and a strange new feeling passed into Vehk. It was reminiscent of the time he had figured out the Open spell, but this time there was a sense of… weightlessness. He thought about leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the dead of night, quick and silent as a nightbird. He thought about swimming in the river crossing the Deshaan with a lover. Those brief moments of utter freedom from the earth.

And then, to his shock, he found himself lifting up in the air. He only managed it for a few seconds before collapsing to the ground, drained, but Khovasi was clapping, a small smile on her face. 

“It is rare to see this kind of talent in you Chimer in magicks that aren’t related to destruction. There seems to be more to you than I thought, young gutter-get. How would you like to learn how to cure disease?”

In total Vehk learned three spells that night: Levitation, Curing Common Disease, and Curing Poison. He was so spent the next day, Khovasi ordered him to rest in the caravan instead of marching. She must have boasted to the others of his accomplishments, because even J’Ram-Shei had nothing to say about it. 

Vehk learned his first offensive spell after he watched Khovasi sap away the very life-force of a crazed kagouti that had charged the caravan, attempting to steal away one of their pack guar. The sight both horrified and fascinated him, and he immediately set about begging Khovasi to teach him the spell. The next time the caravan was attacked, this time by a diseased alit, it was Vehk who defended the crew with the Absorb Health spell, to raucous applause from all of the guards.

Over the next few days, the rest of the crew even began to start joking around in front of Vehk. As they were passing into Stonefalls, J’Ram-Shei interjected, “You ever think Nerevar’s arse gets sore on that horse of his?”

    Varda snorted. Narhil smirked, retorting, “Pony guar are no better. Those scaly hides are like a night at the whorehouse- either way you won’t be sitting come morning.”

    Even Khovasi laughed at that. “Not all of us like it in the bum, you know,” J’Ram-Shei replied.

    “Not all of us, but definitely you,” Varda jested.  

At that the entire crew cracked up. When the laughter died down, Vehk asked, hesitantly, “Have you lot known each other for a long time?”

“Crew started working together five years ago. Really means nothing to a Chimer lifespan, but a lot’s happened in the past five years.”

“Nerevar told me,” Vehk replied. “He said he killed the merchant in charge because he’d slighted your honour. Something like that.”

“Typical Nerevar,” Varda said, rolling her eyes. “Understated to a fault. It had nothing to do with honour. He just didn’t want to tell you what really happened. Probably to avoid embarrassing Khovasi.”

Vehk’s eyes rounded, and he cocked his head.

“The merchant was Nord filth, is what happened,” Narhil hissed. “He saw us all as savages. Talked about how our lands were full of nothing but ash and outcasts. We put up with it because the man was so rich he could wipe his arse with gold.”

“Nerevar killed him because the Nord ordered him to beat Khovasi after she’d dropped a crate of spices. Stupid n’wah. If he’d paid any attention to us he would’ve known Nerevar would rather die than do something like that.”

“But what about the treason?” Vehk asked, scratching his head. “He said something about that.”

“Narhil had figured it out a while back and the whole canvasari were arguing about it every night. Nerevar wanted to kill him then and there, but we’d convinced him not to because none of us wanted to be outlaws.”

    “So after Nerevar killed him, there was a huge fight. I killed a Chimer named Gilvas. He was a good man, but he was afraid. Varda killed the other dissenter. Kireth.”   

    Varda sighed. “So much death and misery. All on account of those thrice-cursed Nords.”

    “The Nords were like the Daedra themselves to us in the big city,” Vehk remembered. “I can’t count the number of times I got my arse beaten. But I was one of the lucky ones. They hunted the kids in the street for sport. At least I had a gang. We stuck together and so they didn’t fuck with us much.”

    “That’s the one thing that unites us, aint it?” J’Ram-Shei reflected. “We all fuckin’ hate those fetchers.”

    The crew’s expressions had hardened now, and they all nodded in agreement. The grim silence was only broken by Nerevar’s shout from up ahead. 

    “Lava flow! Khovasi, Vehk, we’ll need your help!” 

    “You remember what I taught you, yes?” Khovasi asked. Vehk nodded, eyes blazing. They had practiced using Levitate on the caravan to get it safely across. The sheer heat of the lava sent a shiver down Vehk’s spine. It was the first time he’d ever seen anything of the sort. The sensation was that of staring down a Nord guard’s sword or at the face of a dying plague-victim: Vehk was looking into the face of death itself. 

Nerevar crossed first, making a running jump on his horse at the narrowest point. They landed safely amid cheers. Next, Varda, Narhil, and J’Ram-Shei made jumps for it too. Varda, in particular, just barely made it, teetering on the edge before Narhil yanked her to safety. 

Then it was their turn. Vehk gathered all the energy humming in his body into his hands and once again thought of weightlessness and freedom. Then, to applause, the caravan hovered into the air. He quickly realised why Khovasi had needed a helper; lifting the caravan was far more draining than just levitating himself. He felt as if all the bones in his body were being constricted to the point of breaking as they forced the caravan through sheer will to the other side. 

    The minute the caravan touched the ground, Vehk fell to his knees, gasping. His head swam. Then he was roughly brought back up to his feet by Khovasi. 

    “I’ll catch you, Vehk! Jump!” Nerevar called to him. Vehk’s heart was thundering in his ears. 

    He jumped.

    And Nerevar caught him, held him tight. Vehk panted, safe in Nerevar’s muscled arms. 

    “Recruiting you was the best decision I ever made,” Nerevar told him, affectionately mussing his hair. “Rest up. It’ll be a long trek through Stonefalls.”

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not a huge fan of using ocs so i promise these guys arent going to be in the story for a long time, im just using them for now to have nerevar and vehk realistically build off them


	4. Chapter 4

The trip to Ebonheart, in total, took them nineteen days. They met two more lava flows they had to surmount, but each one took a little smaller toll on Vehk. And with Varda giving him extra portions, this was the best Vehk had ever felt in his short miserable life. He was stronger, his skin smoother, his body fuller. When he woke up in the mornings his bones did not ache like they’d been caked in ice, the way they used to. 

J’Ram-Shei even commented on it once. “You know, you’re looking a little less scrawny than when Nerevar first fished you out of the sewer.”

Vehk laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

“Be nice,” Varda admonished him. “He means you look much healthier, which is fantastic! Young boys like you need to grow big and strong.”

A pang went through Vehk. He still had yet to tell the crew of his muddled parts, what some described as a blessing from Mephala. It was simply easier to leave their assumption about his gender unchallenged, but he knew could not hide it for long. 

“Actually, I-” The words caught in his throat. He took a breath, and then forced a smirk. “Not all of us want to be strong. Maybe I want to be pretty.”

“You can be pretty and strong,” Varda reassured him. “But only strong mer can be warriors and fathers.”

“Fuck being a father,” Narhil called from the back of the caravan. “Who in Oblivion wants to be a father in this day and age, with Resdayn being the shit-hole that it is? Aint that right, Vehk?”

“Some people _do_ want to raise children, you know,” Varda retorted crossly. “Don’t you want to be a father someday, Vehk?”

“Maybe,” Vehk responded evasively, the same pang running through him again. He walked a bit slower than the other crew members for the rest of the day, just out of reach of their conversation.

 

Later that night he told Nerevar. He flinched when Nerevar patted his shoulder, for some reason expecting a blow, or worse, instead. Instead, Nerevar quickly withdrew his hand at Vehk’s reaction, concern darkening his eyes. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he reassured him. 

“I know. They call it a blessing. It’s just… I… things were difficult back then.” Vehk’s throat closed up and he pressed his lips together, avoiding Nerevar’s eyes.

“May I hug you?” Nerevar asked. Vehk nodded, barely perceptible, and then warm arms enclosed him. Tension that had seemed to be there for years seemed to slip away like a dream. 

“I have heard of people like you, in the texts of High Velothi scholars. Do you get moon-bleeds?”

“Not every moon,” Vehk responded softly. “In the gutters I just used rags whenever it happened.”

“Tell Varda. I am sure she has a better way of dealing with them than filthy rags. I promise you, Vehk, nobody in this crew will treat you differently. We are not like the Nord guards. We are not rapers. We want you to be safe.”

“I know,” Vehk replied. Nerevar smiled gently at him and Vehk couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Will you lot quit your chattering and go the fuck to sleep?” J’Ram-Shei roared from his bedroll. “Fuckssake.”

Nerevar and Vehk laughed. “Sweet dreams, J’Ram-Shei,” Nerevar called back to him. “See you in Ebonheart by the morrow.”

That night, Vehk dreamed of a woman who was also, somehow a spider. She seemed to be telling him something, but he couldn’t discern her words, because Nerevar was in the dream too and was cooking guar-meat and laughing. The sight of the woman-spider gave him a strange sense of deja vu, and it was not until he woke to the sound of Nerevar asking him if he wanted a bite of guar-sausage that he realised that the spider had always been the symbol of Mephala.

 

As Nerevar predicted, they finally did find Ebonheart the very next day. From afar, it was huge, roughly the same size as Mournhold. But while Mournhold was full of light and magic, Ebonheart was…

“Black. This is the Black City. What do you think of it, Vehk?” Nerevar asked him. “Quite different from Mournhold, I know.”

Vehk was too captivated by the strange, austere architecture to answer. Narhil nudged Nerevar. “You’re a Mora, aren’t you? Don’t you have any clout here?”

“My mother was a Mora,” Nerevar corrected him. “I don’t know what my father is. I grew up outside of Resdayn, remember? The first time I ever saw Ebonheart was when I was already a man grown. And anyway I am Mora Nerevar, not Ra’athim Nerevar. Ebonheart is ruled by the Ra’athim clan within the House Mora. No, the only way we can gather any strength here is through our caravan riches.”

“We could travel to Ald Sotha, but it doesn’t have much to offer in terms of trade. And it would be a long-ass trek to Suran. Weeks, for sure. We should trade off some of the spices and gold here, stock up on supplies.”

“I don’t trust Ebonheart,” J’Ram-Shei said darkly. “Kronin fell a long time ago. His sons have little to no power here. Any one of us says one wrong thing and we’ll all get carted off by the Nords. Even if they don’t find out about the merchant they’d be itching to kill off some Chimer filth, a lizard, and a skoomercat. They could just assign us some crime with no owner and have us drowned in the Inner Sea.”

“But we aren’t slum trash,” Vehk objected. “Well, at least you lot aren’t. They wouldn’t just kill off normal looking canvasari guards, would they?”

“Things are different in Ebonheart than in Mournhold,” Varda explained. “In Mournhold you have the Indoril maintaining some bit of power. And that young Almalexia I hear is manipulating her way to the top, chipping away at the Nord chokehold. Here, there is no hope.”

“We could go east,” Narhil suggested. “Davon's Watch. The Indoril maintain some petty power there too. It would be easier to stock up on resources. Maybe even recruit some people. And we won’t have to worry so much about who to trust.”

“What do you think, Nerevar?” Khovasi asked. It was her first foray into the conversation in hours. “Shall we head through Ebonheart, or make a rout for Davon's Watch?”

Nerevar was silent. Everyone seemed to be waiting on his decision with bated breath. Then he set his jaw. “We stop by The Ebony Flask briefly to stock up on supplies and trade out some of our merchant-goods for gold. Then we head to Davon's Watch and leave for the Ascadian Isles through the port there. Let’s not dally here in Ebonheart. J’Ram-Shei is right; this place brings us only danger.”

His words had a ringing tone to it, which was new. Vehk smiled slightly, remembering their conversation on the first night. This time, nobody questioned his decision. It was decided that Khovasi and J’Ram-Shei would stay in the outskirts with the caravan; Narhil and Varda would ask around in the inn for any news about bounties on Nord-murderers; Nerevar and Vehk would barter with the innkeeper for gold and supplies.

The Ebony Flask was the only inn in the city, as Nerevar explained, and without making any eye contact with the Nords swarming in the city they headed straight there. The inn, thankfully, seemed rather devoid of Nords, instead populated by lonely Chimer. There was little talk amongst the Chimer, as they instead seemed content with staring into their unfinished drinks. 

The innkeeper looked up to see them, unsmiling. “New faces, I see. What brings you to this wretched city?”

“I’d just like to do a little bartering,” Nerevar replied easily, and brought out a sack full of Telvanni bug-musk that they’d taken from the caravan. Vehk only managed a whiff of it before it was traded away for food and a smattering of drams, but the brief scent was enough to make him feel dreamy.

“Good doing business with you, then,” the innkeeper said, with less of a scowl than before. “Anything else you’d need?”

“Yes, while we’re here… Have you heard of any rumours? Specifically, rumours about a group of Chimer killing a Nord merchant?”

“What, you a bounty-hunter for the Nords? On your own kin?” The innkeeper wrinkled his face in disgust. 

“No, no,” Nerevar hurriedly backtracked. “It’s just that…er…”

“You know how it is, serjo,” Vehk jumped in smoothly, eyes glittering with flattery. “You’re out there in the wilds and the Nords mistake you for some other group they’re trying to hunt down. To them, well, one dead Chimer is as good as another. We’re just trying to keep our noses clean and our arses unwhipped, is all.”

“No need to call me serjo,” the innkeeper muttered, but he was definitely smiling now. “I haven’t heard of anything of the sort, but here’s what I have heard: Jarl Hanse dropped dead and with him any chance of a strong force to guide Skyrim out of that messy little skirmish they’ve been in. Nords are leaving Resdayn left and right to try and bring back order and I ‘spect they’ll be leaving in a flood now that Hanse’s out of the running.”

Nerevar’s eyes widened. “I thought Borgas’s death and the failed Moot only created battles that were really little more than arguments. Are you telling me there’s a chance of a real war now?”

The innkeeper nodded, eyes gleaming. “They’re already calling it by a name. War of Succession.” 

 _The War of Succession._ The title sifted through Vehk’s mind as they thanked the innkeeper, left Ebonheart, and began on their way towards Davon's Watch. He thought about the glimpses he’d had of the war through overheard gossip from the Nord guards in Mournhold. They’d been talking about it for his entire life, he reflected. But their tone had always been relatively nonchalant, as if it were just some issue in the background, behind the far more pressing matters on their mind such as catching prostitutes and skooma-traders. 

Now it was a real war. Now, just maybe, Nerevar’s dream of driving the Nords from Resdayn could come to fruit.

There was a chance.

Nerevar appeared to be thinking along the same lines, because he greeted the rest of the canvasari with a broad grin. 

“So what did you hear from the people in the inn?” Nerevar asked Narhil and Varda. 

“Some good, some bad, and some real ugly,” Narhil responded, with a lopsided grin. “The Nords are really having a piss-off now about their stupid High King nonsense. Which is great because that means nobody is going to give a shit about a single dead Nord merchant. Unfortunately there are rumours that all the revolution and war and whatnot is also drawing the eye of the House of Troubles. Mehrunes Dagon, to be specific. There’ve been more sightings of those damned Dremora all over the place.”

“What’s a Dremora?” Vehk queried, blinking. 

“Great big ugly fetchers who will ruin your day in a matter of minutes,” Varda explained. “They carry powerful weapons and wear armour the likes most will never see in their lives. You see one, your best shot is to run.”

Vehk gulped. 

“What’s else is the Ashlanders in Stonefalls are having some kind of big issue. Nobody could specify what it was, probably because nobody really cares about the Ashlanders. But that might mean our route to Davon's Watch may be a little more dangerous than anticipated.”

“The Kagesh and the Ulath,” Nerevar remembered, nodding slowly. “I hope they’re staying safe during these trying times.”

“I’m sure they’ll survive,” Varda reassured him. “We should get a move on. It’s not wise to stay in the Black City any longer than we already have.” 

Before long, the canvasari was back on the road again. This time, Vehk walked alongside Nerevar; Nerevar had decided to give his mare a rest, allowing her to walk at a placid pace alongside the pony guar pulling the caravan. 

“You were incredible back there, you know,” Nerevar told him suddenly.

“What?”

“Back there, with the innkeeper. You saved our hides with that little speech of yours. You’re a very, very quick thinker, you know.”

“I guess,” Vehk mumbled, blushing deeply. “It was nothing.”

“It was not nothing,” Nerevar insisted. “You’re a very smart little mer, and you’re going to do great things someday, alright?”

“Alright,” Vehk laughed, and with fresh faces they walked together, towards the sunset.


	5. Chapter 5

Now that Vehk had gotten used to the canvasari’s patterns, every night when they made camp he took the time to practice his swordplay with Narhil. But no matter how hard he practiced, Nerevar’s old sword felt unwieldy and unbalanced in his hand. It would twist out of his grip, almost as if it were rejecting its new owner. 

Of course, it didn’t help that every once in a while he would get the skoomer-jitters, though they seemed to be lessening considerably as time went on. He thanked Mephala that he’d never got himself irrevocably addicted; he’d only smoked whenever life grew impossible to bear without a sugary delusion to ease the anguish. Still, as the gutter-gets always aphorised, just one crystal was strong enough to lure in weaker-willed individuals forever. 

He’d managed to successfully hide the trembling from Nerevar, instinctually deeply ashamed of the fits, but Khovasi had noticed. Without a word of pity or admonishment, she slipped him potions to ease his suffering. Despite this kindness, though, Vehk still failed to get any better at swordplay. At one point Vehk grew so frustrated, he threw the sword at the ground so hard that it planted itself halfway to the hilt.  

“Maybe you were just meant to be a mage,” Varda suggested after one particularly irritating session. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Play to your strengths, Vehk.”

“What strengths?” Vehk muttered under his breath, massaging his aching shoulders and deciding it was time for him to retire to his tent and sulk. But to his surprise, as he looked up, he was met by an unfamiliar face. He was an Ashlander; Vehk remembered seeing men and women like him in the cornerclubs of Mournhold occasionally. The Ashlander was gripping onto Nerevar, who was half-supporting him, and was panting as if he’d run for miles. 

“This man says the Ulath Ashlanders desperately need our help,” Nerevar spoke. 

“Please! Oh, by Azura- it’s terrible!” The man had tear-streaks running down his ashy, tattooed face. The group hesitantly set off to follow him. “We’ve been having problems for weeks, but… just look!”

Behind him, Nerevar gasped. The Ashlander yurts had been set on fire. A few Ashlanders even lay dead. 

“All our supplies are gone,” the Ashlander next to them moaned. “We won’t be able to last another day like this. Please, help us!”

“Do you know who did this?” Nerevar asked, brow furrowed.

“Yes- a group of bandits- Zenemma led a party to track them down but she cannot beat them without the help of the ashkhan and the ashkhan was killed-” The Ashlander was wringing his hands now, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“Nerevar, we shouldn’t be sticking our necks out for them,” Varda argued. “As terrible as it is, if we go it will only mean death for us too. What we should do is head straight for Davon's Watch. Maybe some other adventurers can help them.”

“No,” asserted Nerevar. “I will not ask for you to help. You have already done so much for me already. But I cannot, I will not leave these people to suffer. If I must go on alone, I shall. But if any of you would like to come with me, I would welcome your help.”

“I’ll go,” Vehk blurted, surprising himself. Everyone looked at him, and he quickly made up his mind. “I- I’m not a warrior like you, I’m just a thief, but. Nerevar, if it weren’t for you interfering I’d still be a whore in the streets. I want to be better. I  _ will  _ be better.”

“I’ll go too,” Varda said quickly, after a short silence.

“Me too,” Narhil added brusquely.

“Go ahead. It’s you lot’s funeral,” J’Ram-Shei spat dismissively. “We’ll wait here til nightfall. If you aren’t back by then I’ll assume you’re dead.”

“Good luck,” Khovasi told them a little apologetically. Forcing down the fear abruptly boiling inside him, Vehk kept his head held high and marched behind Nerevar. He gripped the sword so tightly his palm grew raw. 

Over the next ridge they saw the huge bandit camp. It appeared to be made up of exiled Ashlanders, the odd Chimer, and even a couple of Argonians. The small Ashlander attack force was at the center, fighting bravely, but it was obvious they would lose without their help. The sight made Vehk’s heart beat a frantic staccato in his chest. He briefly remembered the little gangfights he’d had, the assassinations he’d committed- only ever on drunken bar patrons who’d lost a gamble- when he was only a daggerlad and a gutter-get. They all seemed like child’s play compared to this.

“Go!” Nerevar bellowed, and with a cry the four of them rushed down the ridge, weapons in the air. An overwhelming number of bandits rose up to meet them. 

Vehk’s first enemy was a hunkering Chimer. Nothing that he hadn’t handled before, he reassured himself, draining his health with the spell, Absorb Health, that Khovasi had taught him. It took three blasts of the spell to fully take down the mer, Vehk artfully dodging blows his weakening foe threw at him each time he recharged the spell. Finally the Chimer bandit collapsed against the blood-matted grass, dead, and Vehk allowed himself a moment of exhilarating relief. Then he dropped to his knees, gasping, because he was so drained he knew immediately he was done casting any sort of spells. 

He swore, stumbling back up and blocking a sword-strike from an Argonian just in time. They traded blows, but Vehk’s only grew weaker while the Argonian’s only grew stronger. His Oblivion-damned sword seemed to refuse to cooperate. He missed his netch longhook.

_ His netch longhook. _

The spear he’d fashioned himself so long ago, that he’d lost years ago. He  _ needed _ a spear. 

Vehk rolled aside just as the Argonian thrust his sword at him, causing his sword to be buried in the dirt. That would buy him a few seconds while the Argonian yanked his sword back out of the dirt. He needed to find a spear, now. 

And then, as if brought to him by Mephala herself, there was a spear in front of him, clutched in a dead Chimer’s hand. Made of netch-leather, just like his old netch-hook. Strength that Vehk had forgotten he’d ever had surged back up in him, and when the Argonian turned to face him he buried the spear in his chest. He watched as the life left the beastfolk’s eyes, as he clutched feebly at the weapon in his heart. Then he hit the ground and Vehk unfroze, yanking the spear back out of his body and returning to the battle. 

He turned towards the fray, a savage joy rising up in him. The spear in his hand handled beautifully, not nearly as well as the netch longhook he’d once had as a slumwhore, but certainly much better than the sword. Nerevar was in the center, fighting off two bandits at once. Then one managed to sweep Nerevar’s knees from under him, bearing down on him with his sword. 

“No!” Vehk screamed, and threw the spear with deadly accuracy. It skewered one of the bandits and knocked over the other, making it easy for Nerevar to finish her off. Nerevar looked up, beaming when he saw his saviour. 

And as quickly as the battle had begun, it was over. The Ashlanders that had also been fighting the bandits trudged over to Nerevar’s group. 

“I know not your name, but we are in eternal gratitude. My name is Zenemma,” the leader of the Ashlanders announced. “We Ulath had been besieged by this massive camp of bandits for weeks now. They killed our ashkhan. They decimated the Kagesh as well. I did not expect to make it out of here alive.”

“I am Captain Mora Nerevar. Nerevar Moon-and-Star.” Nerevar’s eyes shone. “It was an honour to fight for you and yours. I’m glad you are safe.”

“We will remember your name, Nerevar Moon-and-Star. If you ever come by Stonefalls again, know that under the shadow of our yurts you will always be welcome. We will tell the Kagesh, too, of your heroics.”

“Thank you,” Nerevar responded, bowing sharply. Then he turned to the others, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Well, shall we get back to J’Ram-Shei and Khovasi before they run off without us?”

“Why do you call yourself Moon-and-Star?” Vehk asked out of the blue late that night, while Nerevar and he lay back on their bedrolls.

“Let me show you.” Nerevar undid the clasp of his leather armour, shifting it just enough so that Vehk could see his sinewy arm. There, in the faint ethereal light of the dying fire, Vehk could see a vague crescent shape encircling a little starburst. The birthmark stood out, silvery, against Nerevar’s golden skin. 

“My mother told me that every Mora in her branch of the family has that little birthmark. I wouldn’t know. I never met any of them. It is one of the few mementos of Chimeri heritage I held on to, growing up outside of Resdayn.”

“You care a lot about your family, sera.” Vehk smiled bitterly. “I wish I could say the same.”

“So you are an orphan, then? I thought as much. A shame; I would have loved to know where you inherited such a talent with the spear.”

The younger mer laughed. “For weeks I thought I just wasn’t cut out to be a warrior. ”

“Absolutely not,” Nerevar asserted. “You are blessed with talents in both the art of magic and in the martial arts, which is rare. It is common for many warriors to specialise in one type of weapon: bow, sword, axe, spear, staff... the list goes on.”

“Where’d you learn how to use the sword?”

“I traveled with a sellsword company when I was near your age,” Nerevar explained. “I took to the sword as naturally as you do with the spear. Have you ever had any training with a spear before this?”

“In the streets, at first, I had nothing.” Vehk was sullen as he recalled the memories. “No money, no friends. But I did have a netch-hook. My father gave it to me, before he- before he died. I just shaped it into a spear the best I could and whenever I got into a fight I used it.”

“But why not use magic? You clearly have an aptitude for it.”

“I couldn’t learn any magic because… well…” The pointed tips of Vehk’s ears went red. “I can’t read. I only knew the Open spell because someone taught it to me. In exchange for sex, of course.” At this last sentence, Vehk looked up quickly, eyes in slits and a scowl on his face. Defiant. Daring Nerevar to call him a filthy whore, or worse. But his expression softened when all Nerevar did in response was sigh sadly.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be literate, given the hardships you’ve gone through,” Nerevar replied kindly, patting his shoulder. “I only know how to read because, even though I never knew my father, I still had the luck of having a mother who cared enough to help me learn. You didn’t have either. When I get my hands on a book, I’ll teach you myself. Promise.”

Vehk’s hand slipped into Nerevar’s, and Nerevar squeezed the other mer’s hand lightly. “Nobody ever promised me anything before. Unless it was a threat.”

“Well, now I will,” Nerevar vowed. “You never have to go back to that life again. You’re better than that now.”

“I’m better than that,” Vehk repeated softly to himself, and for the first time, he thought he might believe it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for all the bible references here im not even christian lol

Nerevar insisted, once they’d settled in an abandoned little shack at Davon's Watch, on shaving Vehk’s head. And so Vehk was kneeling, coated with soap-suds, in front of a bucket of water. Nerevar stood, towering over him, brandishing a thin quill-knife. 

“You have an infestation of kwama-lice, as I thought,” Nerevar mused, as he carefully sheared off Vehk’s hair. 

“Sorry,” Vehk mumbled, his chest tight with shame. He wondered if Nerevar had met anyone with kwama-lice before. The pests were everywhere among the gutter-gets of Mournhold, but perhaps they were extinct among those of a higher class.

Nerevar continued, “Kwama-lice was common among the new sellsword recruits. A lot of them were just like you: young daggerlads trying to make their lives better. I was lucky among them. I wasn’t lowborn, so I never got an infestation. The important thing is that you’ll never get kwama-lice again as long as you take care of yourself.” He poured the bucket of water over Vehk’s newly-naked head, and as Vehk rose gently draped him with a new tunic. Vehk murmured his thanks, and Nerevar squeezed his shoulder in acknowledgement. Then the younger mer’s expression changed slightly, to one more shy. Nerevar tilted his head expectantly.

“When’ll you teach me to read?” Vehk asked after a moment of hesitation. 

Nerevar winced, but quickly recovered. “I’ll get right on it when we have some time to rest at Vvardenfell. For now, I’d like to leave the mainland as soon as possible. Khovasi should be coming in at any moment; I’ve called a meeting. Hopefully we can leave Davon’s Watch today.”

“Nerevar?” Khovasi’s head poked in, as if summoned by Nerevar’s words. “You called a meeting, yes? I brought the others.”

Nerevar nodded smartly, and the four guards spilled in. Once they’d arrived at Davon’s Watch, Nerevar had given all of them free rein to do what they wished. Vehk hadn’t seen them for days since. 

“Now that all of us have gotten well-rested, I think it’s time that we finally head for Vvardenfell. Any news about Ald Sotha?”

“Yes, about that…” Varda winced. “Remember when we mentioned that Dagon and his filthy little minions have been popping up all over Resdaynia?”

Nerevar’s expression hardened.

“They landed at Ald Sotha. House Sotha has been trying to fight them off, or so I’ve heard, but a minor House such as them are no match for a Daedric Prince. I expect the city to be wiped out by now.”

Nerevar swore roughly. “And the Telvanni? Dres? Redoran? They didn’t do anything to help?”

Khovasi shook her head solemnly. “They are all too busy focusing on their petty little inter-House conflicts. And terrified of the Nords wresting what little power they have from them, I expect. They say Indoril Almalexia is attempting to rally an army in Mournhold but the other Indoril are blocking her at every turn.”

“And no help from the oh-so-mighty Nords, of course,” Nerevar sneered, and then slammed his fist on the table. “No. No. I will not just let this happen like all the other times. I have to go to Ald Sotha. I have to help.”

“Nerevar, no.” Narhil was shaking his head. “That’s just suicide. We followed you through the Deshaan. We went with you to the Ulath. But this- no. It can’t be done.”

Nerevar let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “I know, old friend.” he replied. “You five: Narhil, Varda, J’Ram-Shei, Khovasi, Vehk- take the money from the canvasari. Divide it up amongst yourselves.”

“But what about you, Cap?” Varda asked. “Surely you’ll need some of the money too.” 

“This is madness!” J’Ram-Shei interrupted, nostrils flaring. “You said we were going to travel to Vvardenfell together. Who gives a damn about Ald Sotha. Stop trying to get yourself killed. By Azura, can’t you just live quietly for once?”

But Nerevar was now smiling wryly. “By Azura, J’Ram-Shei, you know I would never do anything of the sort.” J’Ram-Shei opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again, looking suddenly tired and defeated. Narhil, Varda, and Khovasi all had similar expressions. 

“Now, all of you, go. Do not worry about me. Live well. Thank you for everything.” And with a hand, Nerevar dismissed all of them, an air of terrible finality about him. Without protest, Vehk followed the other four back into the daylight.

Nobody said anything as they trudged towards the canvasari, still tied to its post with the guar faithfully watching over it. The silence hung over them even as Varda carefully revealed and divided up the canvasari’s wonders: more dram than Vehk had ever seen in his life, strange spices, gorgeous silks, esoteric books, and more. 

Narhil was the first to leave, clutching to his chest riches that a gutter-get could only dream of. He stopped briefly, gazing at the others as if about to say something, but then turned and left. As each member of the canvasari guard drifted off, disappearing into the distance, Vehk was left alone with the guar and his own little fortune. He let the gold spill from his left hand to the right, but felt nothing as he watched each coin sparkle in the light.

He looked back up into the empyrean of the clouds and ash and light, willing himself to feel some morsel of happiness, something, anything, but in his mind’s eye all he saw was Nerevar. Nerevar’s smile. Nerevar’s touch. Nerevar telling him he was better than a lying, stealing gutter-get whore. 

He wrapped the dram and bug-musk and mysterious tomes in silks of golden thread and slung it over his back. Maybe some alcohol and a whore would help clear his mind. He could buy as many whores as could satisfy him in a lifetime, now. The thought failed to bring him any joy.

Davon’s Watch was surrounded on one side by fearsome mountains that were the trademark of Stonefalls. Plodding back to the city, Vehk began to have the sensation that the mountains were closing in on him, pressing down into him and constricting his chest so each breath was stuttered.

The city had two inns. Vehk picked the one with the rather more palatable name, the Watch House, and walked in on weary feet. But before he could settle down with a bottle of sujamma, he was arrested by the sight of none other than Nerevar. The mer’s sword was in his belt, and he had one hand firmly enclosing the hilt.

“I need a mage who can offer passage to Ald Sotha,” he was telling the barkeeper in a low, hurried tone. “Is there anyone here that can help me?”

At his words, many of the patrons looked up. The one closest to him said, “Haven’t you heard? Mehrunes Dagon is laying siege there even as we speak. The Great Houses are all too cowardly to leave their cities to help. And the Nords-” She stopped herself in time. “There’s nothing for you in Ald Sotha.”

“I know,” Nerevar replied quietly. Then, his voice growing stronger, he continued, “But I am _ sick _ and gods-damned  _ tired _ of these petty little power-plays between the Nords and the Great Houses that leave thousands dead in their wake. So help me. Help me get to Ald Sotha so that we may save those Chimer that the Nords hate and that the Great Houses have left behind.” 

At first, none of the patrons said anything, and it seemed that Nerevar would truly be alone in his quest. But as Nerevar’s face fell, the patron nearest to him stood up slowly. “If I might, I’d like to come with you. There may be nothing for me in Ald Sotha, but I’d rather be doing something there than wasting away my life in this Oblivion-blasted city.”

“Me too,” said a stocky Chimer with a sharp beard, pushing his chair back. Two more followed him.

A thin Chimer mage added, “What are we Velothi if we do not help our kin? I say, fuck the Great Houses. Fuck the Nords. We should fight for our people!” 

At this a great cheer erupted from the patrons. Nerevar swiveled around, marveling as more than a dozen different people stood up, with cheers of “Fuck the Great Houses!” and “Fuck the Nords!”

Vehk laughed a little to himself as he thought of Nerevar’s response to J’Ram-Shei begging for him to lead a quiet life. Maybe Vehk, too, was not the sort of mer who could simply turn his back on the chance for adventure and glory and heroics. Maybe Vehk was never destined for a quiet life either. Suddenly he was filled with a surety that had been missing in his heart for some time. 

Vehk got up, slowly and reverentially, and returned to Nerevar. When Nerevar saw him he grasped his hands and held him close, affectionately touching forehead to forehead.

“I knew you’d come back,” Nerevar whispered as he pulled away, eyes glimmering. “I wish you hadn’t. It’s dangerous. Too dangerous for a young mer like you.”

“I know,” Vehk replied, and this time the fear was mixed with a prouder, greater emotion. “But I’m coming anyway.”

The bartender showed a small hint of a smile. “There are more patrons upstairs. If you lot really need to get to Ald Sotha right this instant, there’s a mage messenger who just got back from Ald’ruhn, spreading the news about the battle at Ald Sotha. I’m sure he’d be delighted to send you all over there.”

Within an hour more than thirty Chimer were battle-ready and raring to fight. The bartender had, wisely, barred the door to prevent any Nords from overhearing their loud battle-cries. 

Vehk turned to Nerevar, expecting another heartfelt and willful speech. But Nerevar seemed momentarily frozen, his golden skin blanched.

“I’ve never led this many before,” Nerevar muttered in a small voice. “I- I didn’t expect-”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Vehk whispered to him. “By Mephala, I’m scared to death too. But you got to believe you have it in you to push through. Even if you don’t think you do.”

Nerevar nodded slowly. Then a determined grin formed on his face. “All right, everyone!” he bellowed. “I don’t know any of your names now, but today, when we go forth to Ald Sotha, our names will be remembered forever! So let’s get out there and kill some Daedra!”

At this, the loudest cheer yet came forth. Vehk had to cover his ears. The mage messenger from Ald’ruhn began to teleport people in pairs. Nerevar gripped Vehk’s hand in his, and the last thing of Davon’s Watch Vehk saw was Nerevar’s steely gaze before everything went black.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao well this is the last you'll see of those pesky ocs for quite a while, hope they didn't give you too much of a headache ;/


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> swiggity swooty here comes sotha sil

Vehk had at first been somewhat confused as to how everyone seemed to know about the attack on Ald Sotha, but upon arriving it was made obvious. There was a massive red cloud hovering over the razed city, smelling thickly of sulfur and death and fire. He watched, transfixed, as Daedra horrors he had only ever seen in his night terrors marched and slithered around. 

“We’re too late,” Nerevar said, and Vehk saw that his eyes were filled with tears. “Dagon is gone. And so is the city.”

“Still seems like there’s plenty of work to do,” Vehk observed. “And there could be survivors.” 

Nerevar’s face lit up at that. “You’re right. Let’s lead in small groups, hunting down the remaining Daedra and looking for survivors. And… and look for any bodies to give the proper rituals to.”

The next few pairs to arrive included a few assorted Chimer mages and warriors. All of their faces fell at the sight of the razed Ald Sotha. Nerevar had drawn himself together and quickly barked out instructions as more and more people arrived to the scene. Soon, everyone was organised into groups of six. Nerevar’s group, of course, set off first. 

“Before we start fighting, I’d like to hand all of you one of these.” Nerevar passed out potions in blue bottles. “These will knit together injuries. They will keep you fighting, at least for a short while, but you’ll need more than them to be fully healed. Hopefully none of us will need to use them.” 

The first thing Vehk noticed was the heat. It encroached into his mouth, into his lungs, and radiated into his skin. This was no ordinary friendly heat such as from a campsite’s fire-pit, either. There was a certain menace to it that drove up his heartbeat so it thudded hard in his ears. 

He heard in the background a distant roaring, and hoped to Mephala it was the battle-cries of the living, instead of… whatever else it could be. Creeping through the gnarled shadows of the broken buildings of Ald Sotha, Vehk had never felt quite so small before. He could handle real enemies. He could handle Nords, Chimer, Khajiit, Argonians. 

But Daedra? 

He prayed he wouldn’t have to fight one. Not today. Hopefully not ever.

Next to him he heard Nerevar curse quietly, and turned to see a dead body. The frankness of the sight reminded Vehk keenly that it wasn’t a dream, that he really was in this dying, twisted, horrorscape. The body belonged to what used to be a woman. It was hard to discern much else, as it had been charred beyond any other recognition by brimstone. 

“Two of you, drag this body back to the outskirts. We’ll do the death rituals once we’ve found everyone.” A pair of grim Chimer nodded, and without any argument hefted the corpse onto their shoulders and hurried off. 

The next perception Vehk experienced was an acrid, choking stench that immediately caused him to retch. He whipped around, blindly searching for the offending material that was creating it, and then saw a dead netchiman clutching to his chest a similarly burnt netch calf. Unwilling to open his mouth, he elbowed Nerevar and pointed towards the grisly scene. Nerevar pressed his lips together, and had the last pair of Chimer carry back the bodies. 

Now it was just the two of them traveling through Ald Sotha, beneath red skies and surrounded by death. Nerevar’s face had become a mask of coolness, but Vehk could see the cracks in the facade every time his lip trembled as they passed another mangled body. 

The mask shattered completely when they encountered their first Dremora. Nerevar screamed as he overpowered the Daedra with brute strength and stabbed into it again and again and again until Vehk tugged at his arm, pleading for him to come to his senses. Nerevar fell to his knees, breathing heavily, and only got up again to help Vehk take down a clannfear. The creature sent chills of terror down Vehk’s spine, despite being surprisingly easy to defeat with Nerevar’s assistance. He ended up disemboweling the Daedra with much more force than he needed. 

The pair continued, this time at a faster pace, only stopping to finish off Daedra here and there. They made a good team, with Nerevar handling the close combat and Vehk aiding from a distance with his spear, occasionally adding magic to the mix. But Nerevar refused to let Vehk fight any of the Dremora or atronachs, insisting that Vehk stay behind him while Nerevar defeated them single-handedly. This was fine with Vehk, as he knew if he had to fight anything as terrifying as a Dremora he would freeze up in terror. Even killing two more unnatural beasts- a daedroth and another clannfear- was nearly enough to make him vomit. 

Nerevar killed the final Daedra, a flame atronach that had suddenly appeared from behind what looked like a crumbling blackened shrine to Azura. Both of them had shrieked at the abrupt appearance of the creature, and Vehk had to bite down on a sob. Even after Nerevar stabbed into the creature one, two, three times to make sure it was dead, Vehk’s head pounded with blood rushing through it, and he refused to turn his back on the atronach.

They had been in Ald Sotha now for what felt like ages, and indeed when Nerevar finally called the all-clear, some of the Chimer patrols were so exhausted they collapsed. 

Nerevar had been hit in the gut by a frost atronach, and sat down heavily to examine his injuries. Vehk watched as the mer took off his armour, revealing a chest pockmarked by criss-crossing cuts and a fearsome wound hissing with the remnants of magical ice. Nerevar cursed softly and with shaking bloody hands pulled out a potion from his satchel, downing it whole. 

After the wound magically knit itself together, leaving only a raw pink reminder of the battle, Nerevar looked up towards Vehk. His face was caked in sooty grime, and Vehk might not have recognised it as a face belonging to a living mer had it not been for the faint glow of his eyes.

“I need to take a little rest,” Nerevar told him, coughing slightly. Before he could wipe it away on his palm, Vehk saw a small smear of blood. “I think- that one Dremora that tackled me-” he coughed again- “might have fucked me up on the inside.”

Vehk nodded, eyes wide. Nerevar took in a long, shuddering breath before speaking again. 

“Will you tell the- the others- send out search parties. Look for bodies.” 

“Alright.”

“Stay safe.”

“Alright.”

“You’re very- very brave.” Nerevar’s eyes crinkled at the corners. Vehk couldn’t bring himself to smile back, and instead quickly turned tail to carry out Nerevar’s orders. 

Now that all of the Daedra were dead and the place was relatively safe, the group separated into pairs to look for corpses. Vehk went ahead, alone. He kept a firm grip on his spear, and he frantically looked left to right, jumping at the slightest movement. He carried back a child, and then its mother. The work was numbing, and the immediateness of it faded, leaving a landscape that now seemed as surreal as a weeping painting.

As time went on, he became absorbed by thought. In his mind he saw the first time he had ever seen a dead body. It had been an emaciated skooma addict. The sight had left the eight-year-old with nightmares for months, which had only worsened after the orphanage he’d sought refuge in had burned down a year later. He wondered if Nerevar still thought of the work they were doing as honourable and full of glory. There had been no great battle with Mehrunes Dagon. There had been no fantastic victory. There had been only horror after horror as they slogged through a fetid landscape.

Just as he finally began to let his guard down, in the shadows of a building with a broken spire something moved. Vehk cried out and without thinking threw his spear. Then he heard a distinctly mer-like groan. His heart thumping hard against his chest, he crawled forward, one hand timidly reaching out into the murky darkness. 

The first object he came upon was his spear. It had just barely missed a living, breathing Chimer, covered in blood and dirt, who groaned again softly as Vehk gingerly dragged him out of the alleyway. He looked as if he were dying faster as every second passed. There was no time to take him back to the healers. Vehk fumbled for the potion Nerevar had given him and poured it down the mer’s throat, hoping and praying. The Chimer choked and retched, but Vehk clamped his mouth shut and tilted his head back, forcing him to swallow. Then he heaved a sigh of relief as the Chimer’s breathing slowly became more even and steady. 

He cast Levitate on the mer, gently lifting him into the air, and managed, somehow, to float the mer all the way back to where the rest of the patrols were. 

Immediately upon seeing the two of them, healers swarmed them, asking a million questions a minute. Vehk’s head swam from the effort of casting Levitate, and before he could answer any of them, he passed out. 

When he came to, he was on a makeshift bed made of netch-leather, and Nerevar was sitting next to him. The older mer was still without armor, fresh bandages adorning his abdomen. As Vehk opened his eyes, Nerevar smiled and stroked his head. 

“Congratulations on finding the only survivor of the siege of Ald Sotha.”

“Wh- Huh?”

“The Chimer you found. The others think that he managed to survive out of sheer luck. A Daedra had left him for dead, but it seems Azura smiled on him.”

Vehk sat up. “He awake yet?”

Nerevar shook his head. “But it seems he will definitely survive the day. He responds well to aggressive treatment. The healers who came with us really are marvels, you know. I feel nearly as good as new.”

Vehk suddenly fixated on a huge structure made of wood in the distance. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at it.

“The funeral pyre,” Nerevar responded, his face falling. “As you know, Chimer send off their dead with fire. There are too many of them to put into individual urns, however, and the Sotha Ancestral Tomb was razed to the ground. So we had to compromise. It’s still certainly much better than leaving the bodies to rot.”

“When’ll they light the pyre?”

“Any moment now,” Nerevar answered, and indeed as he spoke the whole pyre erupted in flames. They watched in silence as everything went up in smoke: a whole town’s worth of ambitions and hopes and loves and dreams. Vehk’s hand slipped into Nerevar’s, and he was grateful as Nerevar squeezed his hand back.

The pyre burned up quickly, most likely with the aid of magical fire, and was reduced to a small mountain of greyish-white ash. Vehk turned his head as the ash dissipated into the winds; for some reason, this last part of the funeral felt as if it were a private affair, meant to be privy only to the Sotha. Nerevar appeared to be thinking along the same lines, as he met Vehk’s eyes instead of watching. 

Then the quiet trance was abruptly broken by shouts from where the Chimer survivor was laying. Vehk and Nerevar quickly rushed over, pushing aside the others, to see that the Chimer had finally opened his eyes. 

“Hello?” Nerevar knelt next to the Chimer. “Can you hear me?”

The Chimer shrank back like a frightened animal, breathing speeding up to short gasps, and Nerevar quickly shooed away all the other mer who’d crowded around, leaving just himself and Vehk. As the other mer faded away into the background, the Chimer visibly calmed, focusing on Nerevar’s face.

“Where am I?” he asked, in a raspy, gritty voice. 

“You’re safe,” Nerevar responded. “You’re outside of Ald Sotha. I am Captain Nerevar. Would you tell me your name, ser?”

The Chimer managed, with some effort, to raise himself to his elbows. His eyes moved between Nerevar and Vehk slowly. He had recovered some dignity now, and the healers had managed to swab off most of the grime and blood off of him. In the smoke-filtered light, Vehk saw that he had the face of a noble mer, with wise, pious eyes. 

“My name is Sil. Sotha Sil.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sotha Sil, as Vehk quickly found out, was possibly the most bookish mer he had ever met. When he wasn’t crying out and thrashing in the throes of nightmares about the events that had happened at Ald Sotha, or having long meetings stretching into the early hours of dawn with Nerevar, he was reading. And thus it was arranged that Sotha Sil, instead of Nerevar, would teach Vehk how to read. 

Nerevar bit his lip before he told Vehk the news. “It isn’t that I don’t want to teach you,” he rushed out. “It’s just that… well… things are busy and complicated, and anyhow Sil is just as well-read of a mer as I am, probably even more so. You’ll do fabulously under him.”

Vehk had agreed to it without complaint. He, too, could see the increasing strain and pressure Nerevar was under as he coordinated a group of over thirty Chimer to Suran. None of them had particularly wanted to return to the mainland, and most had developed a deep and lasting respect for Nerevar. They all clamored to stay with Nerevar as a result, at least until they could make it to Suran. Despite this, infighting was frequent and cooperation was made near impossible. Every day the huge group could barely inch forward, hobbling their progress greatly. Vehk didn’t bother to learn any of the names of the Chimer, instead staying close to Sil or Nerevar when he was alone, which was rare. 

As Vehk spent more time with him, he found that Sotha Sil also had the air of a mer who had no idea how good-looking he was. He had long flowing black locks that had quickly fallen out and been replaced with hair as white as seafoam. Nerevar had attributed this to the trauma of suddenly losing his entire family in a most horrific way; after all, Sil, like Nerevar, was young and in his prime. This, however, only served to accentuate his looks, framing his sharp jawline just so. 

It really was maddening to see him be so pretty without any effort on his part.

Apart from this aesthetically pleasing distraction, Sotha Sil was a rather good teacher. On their very first lesson, he had Vehk master the entire Daedric alphabet with ease. After Vehk had finished writing from memory the last letter of the alphabet- zyr- Sil had nodded approvingly and had given him as a gift a small curiosity. It was a little creature made of gears and twisted metal, shaped vaguely like a guar.

“I made it using spare parts,” Sil explicated. “I enjoy collecting Dwemer pieces and fitting them together to see how they work. They fascinate me: imagine living in a world where magic is entirely replaced by machines! With tonal architecture, of course, but I don’t want to bore you with the details...”

“How many Dwemer’d you have to kill to get your hands on this stuff?” Vehk asked, turning the metal guar in his hands. 

Sil looked stricken. “Must you focus on killing? I implore you to focus, instead, on the beauty of creativity. Also, I did not kill any Dwemer to obtain those particular parts. Those, I… borrowed.”

Vehk smirked. “I can work with that too, sera. Hey, next time you go about ‘borrowing’ Dwemer parts, take me along.”

“You are far too young to walk around on only one leg or without an eye,” Sil responded. “When I travelled into Dwemer hideouts, I had only the best guards House Sotha could offer with me. And my sister, Nall-”

But he abruptly stopped speaking and quickly got a faraway look in his eyes that meant he was off in a place where Vehk could not reach him.

Sil was not the only one who’d been affected by the events at Ald Sotha. There was one particularly vivid dream on a night when they were passing by one of the plantations surrounding the lake. Vehk dreamed of crippled, broken, twisted things drenched in blood and fire, dancing a frighteningly grotesque dance with monstrous spiders. They had the faces of dead gang members among the years. Dead lovers. Dead plague victims and dead skooma addicts. Then Nerevar and Sotha Sil. Then himself. He’d awoken screaming into his pillow.

Apart from the dreaded nights, however, he looked forward to every day. After only a quick while, Sil had him reading excerpts from books about warriors from Yokuda and Akavir, and Psijic monks from Artaeum. Indeed, in the little time it took to become literate, Vehk had learned more about Tamriel and the Aurbis than in the entire rest of his short miserable life. He ended up begging Sil to lengthen every lesson by just a couple more minutes just so he could read and comprehend those extra few sentences. Sil was always pleased to do so, and they would often only stop when Nerevar or someone called Sil away for some meeting or deciphering they needed.

The real satisfaction, of course, came when he managed to read the rest of one of the books on his own, without Sil’s help. Afterwards he proudly showed Sil the book, and Sil clapped his hands, nodding. 

“Let us tell Nerevar. I am sure he will be thrilled to hear about this.” And off they went to where Nerevar’s tent was, passing through tent after tent full of idle Chimer chatting as the sun slowly rose above the horizon.

Nerevar was alone, for a change, and once Sil told him the news his face broke into a wide grin. He held his arms out and Vehk leaned into them. He smelled sweet, like gold kanet and comberry cake. 

“I knew you were brilliant,” Nerevar told him proudly. “Keep working at it and you’ll be as clever as Sotha Sil here in no time.”

“Perhaps cleverer,” Sil replied, smiling ever so slightly. 

“But, say, Vehk,” Nerevar now asked, “what are you planning to do with all that canvasari money when we reach Suran?”

What Vehk had been planning to do, among other things, was to buy himself a whore. And so it was, on the very first night when they arrived at Suran, that Vehk was in a shady little cornerclub picking among a selection of whores. After deliberation he finally decided on a sprightly girl around his age named Mylis. Mylis had fiery red hair and rosy cheeks to match, and giggled as she led him up to the bedroom.

“I haven’t seen you around here before, serjo,” she murmured as she shut the door behind them, gently pushing him onto the bed with one hand.

“I’m from far away. Mournhold,” he explained, burying his hands in her hair as she laid a delicate kiss on his sternum. “I’m an adventurer.” A little thrill went through his chest as he said it. 

“An adventurer? Tell me all about it, milord.” Mylis was now straddling him, and slowly, rhythmically ground down. Vehk’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he forgot how to speak.

“I fought Daedra at Ald Sotha,” he whispered to her as her hand wandered, slipping under clothing. “I kill criminals. I’ve been all over.”

“So brave,” she purred, and then she was slipping off of him, kneeling at the foot of the bed, her head bowing down between his legs. His mind gave way to bliss, and seemingly only moments later she was spooning him, intermittently laying kisses on his neck and shoulders.

“Tell me more about those Daedra, serjo,” Mylis pleaded. Her finger was tracing a meandering line along his chest.

“They were huge,” Vehk replied, letting out a slow sigh as he spoke. “Huge horrific beasts with all kinds of armour and swords that could cleave a mer in half. I took them all down with my spear and magic.”

“And you weren’t hurt?”

“Of course not. I was much too fast for them.” Vehk turned his head towards her, and they kissed, open-mouthed, briefly. 

“Wow,” Mylis said as they broke apart, rising from the bed and stretching. “Promise me you’ll come back and tell me more about your adventures?” 

Vehk sleepily smiled up at her. “We’ll see. I’m very busy, after all.” He lay there for a while, even after Mylis had left the room, bathing in pride and contentment for just a few moments longer. 

Leaving the cornerclub by nightfall, Vehk paused to breathe in the balmy air. Nerevar and Sotha Sil had selected an empty shack on the outskirts of the town for the three of them to stay in, with the rest of the Chimer they’d travelled with dispersing throughout Suran or hopping on silt striders to elsewhere. The shack, however, had looked extremely uninviting, and Vehk thus had no intention of returning quickly. 

The stars were out, glittering and silvery, against a backdrop of grey gauzy clouds half obscuring the moon. Vehk gazed up at them and wondered if any of his ancestors would have taken the effort to travel all the way to Vvardenfell to watch over him. He suspected not. Despite that, the inky blackness was comforting for a change, unlike in Mournhold where every dark corner was terrifying and every night was stained with blood. Here, the night was a blanket, snugly enveloping Suran. Here, he was safe. 

Walking along the streets he came to the quaint realisation that he’d been in such a rush to lay with a whore, he hadn’t even stopped to look around. The buildings were utterly unlike the architecture back home. They were sloping, smooth, and made of some material quite different from the rugged stone of Mournhold. So many things here in this foreign northern island were alien to him.

Finally deciding upon a destination for his nightly stroll, he headed toward a small tradehouse. Inside was a rather haggard store-owner, who seemed to practically be cowering in front of his customer, an imposing Chimer noble with a short beard and, seemingly, an even shorter temper. 

“Mannanalit, the shipment of silt strider harnesses were supposed to come yesterday. Yet you are here telling me that they have not arrived. Could it be that you wish to face the wrath of the Redoran?”

Mannanalit visibly trembled. “S-serjo, I-” Then he saw Vehk, and flinched. “Oh, it seems w-we must discuss this some other time. How c-can I help you, s-ser?”

“I’d like some bug-musk,” Vehk announced. The Redoran noble turned to stare at him and his lip curled as if he’d come face-to-face with kagouti droppings. It was an expression Vehk had seen on many mer and Nords alike when they’d seen Vehk in the streets. 

“And just who are you?” the Redoran asked. “Can’t you see I am here in urgent business, little guttersnipe?”

“I wanna advise you to take caution, ser,” Vehk retorted silkily. “I’m not any sort of criminal. Throwing around accusations like that is... dangerous, milord.”

The noble bristled. “Is that a threat?”

“Not at all, muthsera,” Vehk replied carelessly, smiling innocently. The Redoran harrumphed and turned back to Mannanalit, who’d been taking a strangely long time looking for bug-musk. As Mannanalit stood up, for a moment his face was caught in the dim, flickering light, and the Redoran noble abruptly turned pale. 

“Wait, you aren’t Mannanalit! Who are you, Chimer?” 

Vehk saw it happen a moment before it actually occurred. The impostor storekeeper floored the noble with a kick so powerful it left him dazed and groaning. In his hand was an iron dagger, wickedly sharp. 

“Stay out of this, little fetcher,” warned the false Mannanalit. Any trace of a stutter was gone, leaving a cool, even tone. “I was only told to kill this one. You be a good cowardly runt and scuttle off, and I won’t need to hurt you.”

Vehk hesitated, and in only a short moment the assassin leaped nimbly over the counter. He crouched over the Redoran noble, who was attempting desperately to crawl away. There were only seconds left to act, now. 

“Fuck!” Vehk swore loudly. He charged, hands swirling with magic. Not-Mannanalit wheeled around just in time to block the first spell Vehk hurled at him. Vehk narrowly dodged his dagger thrust and managed to knock him off his feet with another spell. Pulling his spear from its strap around his back, he thrust down. 

The assassin rolled out of the way and scrambled back up, aiming another stab with his dagger. The blade glanced off Vehk’s spear, but slashed his arm. Vehk hissed at the injury and kicked out, hard. His opponent howled as Vehk’s foot connected with the assassin’s knees, and Vehk took the moment of disorientation to fire up one last spell. His lightning bolt left not-Mannanalit charred and disoriented, and Vehk finally managed to finish him off with his spear.

“Gods damn it,” Vehk groaned out loud. “By Mephala, why can’t I have just ONE day where I don’t almost die?”

He kicked the prone Redoran, who appeared to have fainted from the shock. Hunkering down, Vehk slapped him across the cheek once, twice. This was sufficient to rouse the Chimer, who snapped up, spluttering.

“You- you saved me? Why?”

“Wondering that myself,” Vehk muttered under his breath. Then he said more loudly, “Get yourself home, serjo. Seems like you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Wait! Wait!” The noble clutched at Vehk’s leg, stopping him from turning to leave. “I have a job for you, daggerlad. If you can find whoever it is who wanted to kill me, I’ll offer you anything you want. Gold. A lordship. Anything!”

_ A lordship?  _ Vehk paused. “I’ll think about it.” Without taking a second look at the noble on the floor, he pushed the door open and slipped silently outside. Pressing his lips together to contain his rising excitement, Vehk fled into the night, bursting to tell Nerevar and Sotha Sil the news.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> u may be wondering why i use a weird hybrid of british and american spelling and the answer is because i was educated in british english in a non english speaking country so ya yeet sorry if it sounds pretentious

Skidding to a stop in front of the shack on the outskirts of Suran, Vehk burst in to find Nerevar and Sotha Sil in deep discussion, seated at a water-warped table. Upon seeing him both mer greeted him, a smile on Nerevar’s face as always.

“Where were you all night?” Nerevar asked, reaching out to pat Vehk’s head, which was now covered in a fine layer of stubble. “Never mind that. Sil over here and I have been talking for a while now, and we’re finally ready to tell you about our plan-”

“Tell me the plan later, sera,” Vehk interrupted. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Tonight I stopped an assassin!”

“Do tell,” Sotha Sil encouraged, stroking his chin. 

“I was at a store- the shopkeeper was an assassin in disguise- tried to kill a lord from House Redoran-”

“And you saved the Redoran? That’s my Vehk,” Nerevar added, glowing with pride. Vehk paused, grinning, and then barrelled on.

“The Redoran lord told me if I- we- can find who wanted to kill him, he could give me- us- a lordship!”

Nerevar turned to Sotha Sil, grasping Sil’s hands in his. “This is perfect, Sil! This is the perfect chance to begin our quest. You’re brilliant, Vehk.”

Vehk cocked his head. “Wait, what?”

“Have you noticed how Nerevar and I have been engaging in meetings and discussions often throughout our trek to Suran?” Vehk nodded. “That is because of how, due to being indebted to you two for saving my life, I have offered my services as an advisor to Nerevar. I wish to help him on his quest to unite Resdayn against the Nords. I believe it a noble goal and well worth pursuing.”

“Oh.” Vehk blinked. “I didn’t know you were really serious. That is. I didn’t know you really wanted to, er. Do that. I mean, I thought it was just a dream in the far-off future.”

Nerevar looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “Of course I was serious about it! That’s why it’s excellent that you’ve brought us this news. We were planning on going to each of the Great Houses, as well as the Ashlanders, and gaining their favour so that we can eventually become able to cast the Nords from our province.”

“House Redoran prides itself in honour,” Sotha Sil noted, absentmindedly scribbling on a piece of parchment. “They will readily recognise us for solving this mystery you have presented us with.”

“Oh.” There was a strange pit in Vehk’s stomach, and he felt as if someone had suddenly let all the air out of him. “I… but the lordship…”

“There are more important things than lordships, Vehk!” Nerevar proclaimed, standing up. “There’s a nation at stake here! Anyone can be a lord. But not anyone can be a revolutionary!”

“I think you may be scaring Vehk,” Sotha Sil interjected, a smile in his words. “But you must understand us here. This is for the greater good. Besides, as Nerevar astutely pointed out, a Redoran lord has little power to change the course of history. A lordship means nothing compared to being one of the mer who helped lead Resdaynia against the Nord occupation.”

“I guess.” Vehk bit his lip to stop himself from saying what he thought was obvious:  _ What if all of that goes to shit?  _

As if reading his mind, Sotha Sil said, “Have a little faith, Vehk. The Nords are falling apart at the seams. The people are tired of the division and disunity caused by the Great Houses’ constant squabbling. Now is the time to step in. We can benefit Chimer everywhere by taking charge.”

At Sil’s words, Vehk was brought suddenly to a time set in his past years in Mournhold. He’d been new to whoring, then, and had found that it made far more money far quicker than thieving did. It even had the added bonus of being much, much safer; nobody would blink an eye if a thieving little gutter-get was killed for getting their grimy fingers on a valued possession. Whoring was an easy career to fall into, or so the young mer had thought. Vehk had even fancied that he might save up money to buy books, teach himself to read, and then become a beautiful, well educated courtesan living a comfortable lifestyle in one of the large cornerclubs.

Then he’d met a young whore, barely older than Vehk, who’d once been a rising star of House Dres. He’d been cast into the streets for going against his noble house over some petty disagreement. They had known each other in many ways for a while, and had even entertained ideas of running away together, somehow. Then it had all been cut brutally short when he was murdered while bedding a patron who’d turned out to be one of the Morag Tong. After that, Vehk never whored without keeping a dagger on the nightstand, hidden between the pages of a book.

“Alright,” Vehk finally agreed. Nerevar audibly exhaled. “I want to help the smallfolk. People like me. The whores and the gutter-gets. You’ll help them, right?”

“Of course I will,” Nerevar reassured him, squeezing his shoulders. “That’s what being a king is all about.”

Sotha Sil coughed. “Call yourself a Hortator. The term would be more familiar to Chimeri, at least to those in the Great Houses. I suppose there would be a different word for Ashlanders.”

“Hortator, then,” Nerevar corrected himself. “Now, let’s get about to approaching this noble you met, so we can figure out why exactly someone so gravely wanted him dead.”

The noble was named Redoran Hlarel. Hlarel was lounging at his manor, being tended to by a Khajiit handmaiden. As Nerevar and Sil spoke in depth with him, Hlarel leaned back and ate jazbay grapes, popping each one lazily into his mouth. Vehk stole one, and Hlarel shot him a filthy look but refused to deign to remark on it.

“So, what I’m gathering from this is that you only recall having a spat with a Sadras councilor during the past few years,” Nerevar finally concluded. “He appears to be the only possible suspect, then?”

“Yes, but there is a problem,” Hlarel explained. He thrust a bloodstained, ratty leaf of vellum into Nerevar’s hands. As Nerevar gingerly read it, Hlarel continued. “The assassin was not Morag Tong. I’m not sure exactly what he was, but there was no Morag Tong regalia on his body. Nothing.”

“And this note- I assume you found it on the assassin’s body- suggests that the assassin was supposed to report back to someone in a nearby cave. That isn’t the Morag Tong way either.” Nerevar frowned. “I may be an outlander, but I know that much.”

“What’s the cave name? Let’s go and check it out.” Vehk jumped up, hand already on his spear. 

“Wait,” Sotha Sil cautioned. “We don’t know what would be in the cave. Instead of blindly rushing in, let us consider all possibilities.” He turned to Hlarel. “You are absolutely sure there are no other enemies you think you would have made? None?”

“Well,” Hlarel considered, tapping his chin. “I remember hearing rumours that there was discord being sown in the Redoran leadership lately. I can’t seem to remember who it was being caused by, but my death could have been part of that goal. I am, after all, a very important member of this House.” He puffed his chest out.

Vehk let out a very loud cough to disguise his snort. Hlarel blithely ignored him and began to usher the three of them out of his house. “Please do solve this mystery and tell me how it goes when you return. If you return, that is.”

“And you will put in a word for me to the Redoran leadership, as promised?” Nerevar asked. “More than a word? A very strongly worded argument as to why I am capable enough to lead the Redoran in times of dire need?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Hlarel said quickly, and then he shut the door behind them. 

“Probably had a whore in there,” Vehk remarked as they made their way to the cave. “That’s why he was in such a big hurry to get us out.”

“Now is not the time to think about whores,” Nerevar chided him, though his mouth twitched. “Saturan is over these mountains, and it’s very difficult to actually climb them.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Sotha Sil jumped in smoothly. “Both Vehk and I are capable of using Levitate. My magicka pool is significantly larger than yours, Vehk, so I’m sure you won’t mind if I do the honours of casting Levitate on Nerevar, yes?” 

“Alright, let’s get it over with then,” Vehk replied, and in only a few more minutes they had surmounted the boulders. Saturan was smaller than Vehk had expected, and before going in, he turned to Nerevar.

“This seems too easy, for some reason. There can’t be that many people in this cave. Someone powerful enough to go for a Redoran noble, even if they were stupid enough to use a mercenary instead of the Morag Tong, should have a whole host of people to use as death fodder.”

“Some things simply end up being too easy, Vehk,” Nerevar responded. “But I do hope you’re wrong. I don’t think the three of us could handle an ambush. There’s no sense in worrying about it now, though. Let’s have at it, shall we?”

Within Saturan there was only one Nord, who immediately attacked upon seeing the Chimeri intruders. He was quickly disarmed by Nerevar, and tied down with magical glowing golden cords by Sil. Without any further ado, Nerevar began the interrogation.

“Why did you want to kill the Redoran, Hlarel?”

“Like I’d ever tell you, filthy elf.” The Nord spat on Nerevar’s boots. Upon seeing that, Vehk kicked the Nord so hard in the shins, he thought he’d heard the crunch of bones. The Nord howled.

Nerevar let out a low growl as he wiped his boots against the cave dirt. “I’ll ask you once again. Why did you want to kill him?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you!” The Nord was miserably clutching at his legs. “Just- just keep that little bastard away from me!”

Nerevar nodded to Vehk, and Vehk stepped away, still fuming. He gave the Nord a burning glare. The Nord gulped, and rushed on.

“I was just told by the higher-ups to send some mercenary to kill the Hlarel guy. I don’t personally have any grudge with him! I swear! Now let me go before I dragon-shout all of you to Oblivion!”

“If you were one of the Tongues, you would have used your power already,” Sotha Sil put in. “Cease your transparent bluffing and tell us. Who exactly are these ‘higher-ups’?”

“I-” The Nord met eyes again with Vehk, and hurriedly went on. “Jarl Bhag. He told me. It was part of the plan to keep you miserable Chimer skeevers quarreling and under control while the Nords war over who should be High King. But all his forces are busy right now with that damned succession war so he could only spare me and that’s why I’m stuck in this awful ash-covered pox-ridden excuse of a province!”

“Thank you for your help,” Nerevar said evenly, though Vehk saw his hands shaking slightly as he motioned for Sotha Sil to release the Nord. As the Nord hobbled away into the waning night, he finally exploded, kicking the Nord’s sword against the wall so hard it bent in half. 

“Azura damn those Nords! They know us Chimeri too well. They know our weaknesses and how to exploit them. They know the Great Houses easily fight about the littlest things. How in Oblivion are we ever supposed to defeat them?”

“We know their weaknesses as well,” Sotha Sil pointed out. “For instance, the Nords are typically incapable of devising complicated and devious plots. It was obvious that whoever was attempting to kill Hlarel was an outlander, from how they didn't use the Morag Tong. Additionally there are few outlander influences that would have the desire or the means to sow discord in a Chimer Great House. I at least can only think of a few other possibilities, especially, as Vehk pointed out earlier, in order to have this kind of power they would most likely have many others at their disposal. It would have been easy to put two and two together even had we not gone on this trip to Saturan. Regardless, now that we know it was Bhag, we can use it as a rallying cry against the Nords.”

“You mean we can use it to manipulate the Chimer? To, uh, incite anger?” Vehk asked. 

Sil winced. “I suppose, yes. Incidentally, did you learn the word ‘incite’ from the book I gave you recently? I recall seeing it in one of its memorable passages.”

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Excellent. I’ll give you another book tomorrow.”

“Let’s get back to Suran,” Nerevar said. His brows were still furrowed, though his expression had lightened considerably. “It’s time we collect our reward from Hlarel.”

It was surprisingly easy to have Hlarel agree to discuss with the other Redoran lords about Nerevar becoming a Hortator. In fact, Hlarel even promised to send a courier to them once the deed was done. Vehk attributed this to the honour the Redoran supposedly had that Sil had mentioned. It had been rare, Vehk reflected, to see any kind of honour on the streets of Mournhold, including from himself.

As the three of them strolled outside in the white morning sunlight, triumphant with success, they heard the low keening of some injured animal. Nerevar whirled around, hurrying towards the noise. 

“Nerevar, wait!” Vehk attempted to call, but Nerevar was already far ahead of them. Left with no choice, he and Sil reluctantly followed. 

When they finally caught up, they found Nerevar kneeling next to a ridiculously small silt strider on its side, long trailing legs splayed. There was a deep fissure in its shell, with white spots surrounding it, and an unpleasantly damp smell emanated from the wound.

“Step away from the silt strider, serjo,” a Chimer with long dark hair that reached her back was warning Nerevar. “It’s ill, and not worth keeping alive. Only hatched a few months ago and was attacked by something, I’m supposing a nix-hound by the looks of the wound. I’m to slay it under the orders of Redoran Hlarel and sell its leather for scrap.”

“Redoran Hlarel?” Nerevar echoed, stroking the creature’s shell. The creature let out a shockingly mer-like groan.

“Serjo, we really shouldn’t,” Vehk exhorted. Sotha Sil wheezed next to him, too winded to say anything. “Testing that man’s patience won’t get us anywhere, especially over something like a dying silt strider.”

“Well, I can’t just leave it to die,” Nerevar insisted. He pressed a sum of dram into the caravaner’s hands. “Here, this should cover the price you would’ve gotten for leather scraps. I’ll take the strider.”

Baffled, the Chimer did nothing as Nerevar hefted the strider onto his back. As the three left, she called after them, “Nobody in Suran will know how to treat the strider. We just mercy-kill them when they get to this stage. Your best chance is to go to those Ashlanders near Balmora. Zainab, I think.”

“Zainab,” Nerevar repeated. “Got it. Thank you.”

“Zainab it is, then,” Vehk sighed. “I guess there’s no point in arguing with you now, is there?”

Nerevar beamed. “You know me too well.”

 


	10. art!!

the incredibly lovely @BundoBuddy, aka katarame on tumblr, made this art for us to enjoy! it's nerevar teaching vehk how to read (the way he should have- if only he hadn't been so busy :c) i hope you guys enjoy this piece as much as i did!

 


	11. Chapter 11

“I am beginning to see this venture as a product of the path we were inevitably leading towards,” Sotha Sil commented as they made their way through the foyada towards Arkngthand, which was where Balmora locals had directed them when they’d asked about the Zainab. “We most likely would have ended up visiting the Zainab regardless, and it’s always good to save an extra life along the way.”

“Lady Azura is smiling upon us,” Nerevar replied, nodding. Vehk said nothing. 

The silt strider ride from Suran to Balmora had been the first of its kind he’d ever had. All the money he could have saved up, before, had gone into keeping himself barely, desperately, alive. Getting anywhere on anything except by foot was a luxury he could have never afforded. On the silt strider’s back, they’d glided over the terrain as if having drank an eternal Levitate potion. The caravaner had known exactly where to go and piloted the creature effortlessly. Vehk had relaxed and watched the scenery pass by, sitting with Sil. Nerevar had taken his own silt strider, in order to stay close to the injured cargo he brought with him.

After an hour of the trip had gone by, Sil had asked him if he wanted to try  _ writing _ something, as opposed to only reading. Vehk was at first appalled by the idea, but soon enough Sil had gotten him to attempt a simple, short poem. Vehk had scrunched up his face for a few short moments, and then wrote on the vellum Sil offered him in black spiky handwriting:

_ No lock exists _

_ that a determined Thief can’t open. _

“Rather… compact, isn’t it?” Sil commented. 

“Poems can be compact,” Vehk argued back. “Lots of poems are compact. Doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Very true. I’m no poet myself, so who am I to argue?” Sil slipped him a fresh sheet of vellum. “Still, every poet should work on his or her skill. Think on some more poems and share them with me. I shall eagerly await them.”

And that was how Vehk had been spending the hours as the three of them made their way down the lonely black ash road, lost inside his own mind. It was strange; normally he was so focused on the here and now, excepting the occasional dreams of grandeur. But words and couplets were filling his brain, and the tragedy was that there was no way he’d be able to write them all down. 

By the time they had actually reached the Zainab camp, Vehk had disciplined his thoughts enough to form three more poems. From a distance, he watched as Nerevar approached what looked like the wise woman of the tribe, silt strider in his arms. The wise woman agitatedly gesticulated with her arms, which seemed to surprise Nerevar. But Nerevar was soon nodding, turning for quick confirmation to Sotha Sil, who also nodded. 

“Vehk? Come here,” Nerevar called. Vehk blinked, and quickly obliged. “The wise woman has told us that the Zainab have been having skirmishes with the nearby Dwemer in Arkngthand. Property disputes, I suppose. I’m to sort it all out, and in exchange they’ll treat this little silt strider here.”

“Only someone with the fortitude of an ashkhan could do it,” the wise woman warned. “It will not be easy, Captain Mora.”

“Let’s hope that I have that fortitude, then, yes?” Nerevar smiled thinly. Vehk noticed that his hand was already on his sword.

“Okay, so when are we leaving?” Vehk asked. All thoughts of poems had been wiped by the possibility of action. 

“We aren’t. I am.”

“What?”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Nerevar insisted. “I won’t have you risking your life.”

Vehk scowled. “I went with you to Ald Sotha! I fought Daedra! I can handle it!”   
“I know, and I was very impressed by it,” Nerevar allowed. “You’re brave, but if this situation with the Dwemer goes south… there’s no telling what they could do to you. No, stay here with Sil and the other Zainab. The Dwemer are distrustful, anyway, and would most likely only agree to parley with an individual.”

“I agree with Nerevar, here,” Sil added. “It would make more sense strategically to only send Nerevar. Even if all three of us went, they would overpower us easily. This is a delicate situation that is best handled by one rather than a group.”

“I-” Vehk’s mind couldn’t come up with a competent rebuttal. “Fine, alright.”

“I’ll see you two in a bit, then,” Nerevar responded kindly. 

“We shall have some of our scouts set up near the entrance, in case you need to send any message to us, or require anything,” the wise woman said. “Good luck, sera.” Nerevar bowed politely and headed off. 

After they watched him disappear into the distance, Sotha Sil turned to Vehk. “While we wait, I’d like to talk to you about the plans that Nerevar and I have discussed.”

Vehk watched him warily. “Will I get to actually  _ do _ anything in these plans?”

“Yes, that’s the issue at hand, isn’t it?” Sil rested his chin in his hand, white hair glinting in the light. “You remind me of myself at your age, which wasn’t too long ago, so the memories are quite clear. The fierce desire for independence, and to prove yourself. Every mer has it. I think it is time for you to go your own way, at least for a little while.”

Vehk shook his head emphatically. “I don’t want to leave him. I guess we did argue a little just now, but I- I don’t know what I could do without his guidance. Before him I wasn’t anything, really.”

“Precisely. You must find yourself, figure out who you really are. As it is, it seems that you stand in Nerevar’s shadow. While there is little doubt that he is a great mer, you are not him. You are Vehk.”

“What kind of plans are you talking about?” Vehk’s brow was furrowed as he mulled it over.

“There are six Great Houses, as you know. Three of them are the Hlaalu, Telvanni, and the Dagoths. House Sotha has always paid fealty towards House Telvanni, and they are- were- our liege lords. Though they forsook us at Ald Sotha, as the son of House Sotha I have reasonable confidence that they will still bear goodwill towards me. Thus, I will head towards House Telvanni to make an appeal in Nerevar’s name.

Nerevar has offered to travel to House Dagoth and make his case there, as well as journey to the different Ashlander camps in Vvardenfell.”

“So that leaves me with the Hlaalu?”

Sotha Sil nodded. “It will be good for you, I think. The Hlaalu capital, Narsis, is located near your old home, in the Deshaan. It will be familiar enough, but not too so. The Hlaalu, I find, often use bribery and sex to move up the ladder of power. This, too, should be familiar to you. Utilise your strengths and skills; it will bring you a long way.”

“I don’t know.” Vehk sighed through his nose. “I don’t want to let him down. Or you, I guess.”

“Neither of us are going to force you to do anything,” Sil assured him.

Vehk said nothing for a time, and the two of them gazed off into the hazy distance, where the dark shadow of Red Mountain loomed. Then, abruptly:

“What about the captain? What does he think about this?”

“Nerevar was at first vehemently against the idea. But I eventually managed to have him agree to respect your wishes, whatever they may be.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Vehk said. There was a strange cavalcade of emotions inside him that he had yet to even begin to sort through. But he was distracted quickly by the sight of a lone Ashlander scout sprinting towards them. He skidded to a stop in front of Sil and Vehk, panting and wiping sweat from his forehead. 

“The outlander… he wants you two to come to Arkngthand… asked me to hurry.”

Vehk shot up from his perch. “Is he okay? Is he hurt?” He was already envisioning all the ways Nerevar could have been mangled by those foreign whirring machines and fearsome Dwemer warriors. 

“He seemed fine,” the Ashlander replied, and Vehk sat down heavily in relief. “I think he just wanted you two to come watch.”

“Watch what?” Sil asked.

Whatever Sil had imagined that they were going to be watching, when they actually reached Arkngthand it was clear that his expectations had been wildly out of order, as Sil looked as surprised as Vehk felt. 

Nerevar was sitting cross-legged next to a Dwemer dressed in finery, wearing a short beard in ringlets. They watched, astounded, as Nerevar laughed with the Dwemer, slapping his back jovially. A multitude of Dwemer were milling around, every once in a while casting befuddled looks at the pair. 

“Vehk! Sil! Come here and meet Dumac!” Nerevar called from his seat. Dumac looked up to see them, and his expression immediately became formal. He stood and gave them a sharp bow, which Vehk and Sil quickly reciprocated.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Dumac announced in heavily accented Chimeris. “My name is Dumac, Third Prince of the Dwemer of Resdayn.”

“Nerevar,” Sil began, slightly tremulous, “would you care to explain what exactly led to these events occurring?”

“Allow me to do the honours,” Dumac .rumbled. “Nerevar and I met some time ago, when you were a- how do you call it? A-”

“A sellsword,” Nerevar supplanted. For some reason, his cheeks had a tinge of pink to them.

“Yes. He was sent on a campaign against a small troop that I had been made to lead. But he made the choice to spare me after I surrendered.”

“You make it sound like such an important event,” Nerevar muttered, positively red now. “Anyone would’ve done it.”

“No, friend, I fear not many Chimer- or Dwemer, for that matter- would be willing not just to spare the life of an enemy, but to then nurse them back to health for weeks on end.” Dumac paused to offer Sil and Vehk goblets of what Vehk assumed was Dwemer alcohol. Sil politely declined, but Vehk gladly tried it. It reminded him strongly of what one would expect shein mixed with animunculi grease would taste like. 

While Vehk did his best to not splutter and spit out the foul liquid, Nerevar responded, “I lost my job for that, you know? That’s how I ended up getting my canvasari guard captain position.”

“Yes, goodness is typically rewarded with cruelty,” Dumac said gravely. “You are lucky, Nerevar, that I was assigned to Arkngthand recently; some of my brothers and sisters would not nearly have been so kind as to even allow you inside. A few would have killed you on sight."

“I know.” Nerevar stretched leisurely, and then yawned briefly before speaking again. “But you will do as I ask? For old times’ sake?”

 Dumac stroked his beard, then nodded as he answered. “I will heed your words, as a personal favour, and cease fire with the Zainab. Send word to their leaders that we shall withdraw our animunculi and centurions, insofar as they do not venture into Arkngthand again. Take care, now, and return to your land above.”

Nerevar dipped his head in thanks, and then rose from his seat to join Vehk and Sil. They said nothing as they were led by silent Dwemer spheres to the surface, possibly because both Sil and Vehk were so bewildered by the fact that Nerevar was friendly with a Dwemer prince that they were at a loss for words. There were so many questions Vehk wanted to ask that he couldn’t choose among them to actually give voice to. 

It was not until they were nearly back to the Zainab camp that Vehk, suddenly inspired by a loud growl from his stomach, asked,

“What’s for dinner?”

Nerevar blinked, a bemused expression on his face, and then laughed. “I was thinking we could share a meal with the Zainab, so I suppose whatever the Zainab will be cooking tonight.”

Sil wrinkled his nose. “I certainly hope it isn’t more guar-meat. I don’t think I’ve ever been so sick of a foodstuff in my life before, and I lived on Artaeum. Those Altmer do  _ not  _ know how to cook.”

The evening was a sky made of deep purple hues richly mixing, like comberry wine, with the bloodred remnants of the sunset. All three of them found themselves to be exhausted after the day’s events, and chose to retire early. While laying in his bedroll, Vehk found that he was repeating his and Sotha Sil’s conversation in his head over and over, and so sleep eluded him. The conversation Sil and Nerevar were having floated through his ears. 

“I have a question,” a sleepy Sil was saying. “Why do you call yourself Captain Nerevar?”

Nerevar laughed lowly. “Old habits, I suppose. I’m not any sort of captain any longer, am I?”

Sil hummed thoughtfully in response, and soon afterward Vehk could hear deep, even breaths from him. Realising that Sil had fallen asleep, Vehk rolled over so he was face to face with Nerevar, who appeared to be sorting through his personal collection of books. But he set them down upon noticing Vehk’s presence, tilting his head as if expectant for a chat. 

When Vehk failed to start any kind of conversation, Nerevar glanced up at the sky. “It’s a nice night out,” he commented lightly. 

Vehk was struggling to find the right words for what he wanted- no, what he needed to tell him. He finally settled with “Why didn’t you want me to go to Narsis?”

“Oh,” said Nerevar. He smiled weakly in the dimming glow of the single lantern nearby. “I suppose… I rather thought… you had already dealt with enough adversity and loneliness to last yourself a lifetime.”

Vehk made no response. Unable to meet Nerevar’s eyes, he watched the flickering light, like that of a lonely star snatched from the sky and bound, helpless, in crisp lantern-paper. 

“I just wanted to protect you,” Nerevar continued, more softly.

“I don’t need to be protected,” Vehk replied curtly, almost immediately feeling a hot wave of shame at his words. Yet he could not bring himself to apologise, and only said “Good night, serjo.”

“...Good night, Vehk.”

  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

It took Vehk a week to make up his mind on whether or not to leave for Narsis, during which the trio enjoyed the hospitality of the Zainab. The silt strider, which Nerevar had christened ‘Urchin’, made fantastic progress under the healing hands of the wise woman, and it wasn’t long before little Urchin was frolicking about and burbling. Though at first Vehk was wary of the creature, it wasn’t long before he found himself petting the young silt strider and feeding it treats more than even Nerevar did. 

Sometimes when the nightmares from Ald Sotha or from his past life as a daggerlad grew too much to bear on his puny shoulders he would even venture out to Urchin’s tree. She was tied there when Vehk or Nerevar didn’t take her out on little excursions, burbling those long, drawn-out silt strider cries. Whenever he approached her in the middle of the night, feverish and delirious from the dreams of him being beat by Nord guards and dreams of burning corpses, she would let him nestle next to her shell. It wasn’t comfortable, by any means- the Zainab, after all, had chosen to camp in barren volcanic ground- but somehow it provided more relief than any luxuriant pillow could even hope to provide him.

Vehk was also the first person Urchin allowed to ride her. There was as of yet no hollow in her shell, and Urchin was still not used to her long, spindly legs. The rides, as a result, were bumpy and uncomfortable, but Vehk relished each one. In fact, he’d begun spending more time with Urchin than with Nerevar or Sotha Sil. They noticed, of course, and every once in a while Vehk would catch them sending a worried look his way. But Vehk had already decided to blame his new tendency to be withdrawn from the others on Alandro Sul.

Alandro Sul was one of the Ashlander scouts that had gone ahead with Nerevar to Arkngthand, and had apparently fallen in love with him in the process. Sul would go on about how he and ‘Captain Mora’ were  _ just  _ alike in that Sul, too, was an outsider in his own home: he’d been adopted by the Zainab at the puny age of seven. Vehk was also reminded frequently by Sul that he, too, preferred to use the sword, just like Nerevar did. It got to the point where Vehk would tune him out whenever Sul even opened his mouth, choosing instead of listening to relish images in his mind of Sul tripping and falling in a lava flow.

As every day ticked by, Sil and Nerevar both began to more urgently discuss their plans. Sil and Nerevar together had come up with five, each one contingent on both insignificant details and significant changes. It was becoming more and more obvious that the only gear left to be fit in was Vehk, who stubbornly avoided them. He told himself every passing hour that he would get around to telling them his decision some other time, desperate to stretch out his time here in this pocket of peace.

On a Turdas afternoon, when Vehk was sitting by the foyada with Urchin at his side, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Nerevar, carrying a rucksack. Vehk awkwardly scooted aside for Nerevar to sit, and as Nerevar thanked him with a little nod he took from the rucksack a snack for Urchin. They sat in a somewhat anxious silence as Urchin crooned and gladly took the treat. 

“I’ll go,” Vehk interrupted as Nerevar opened his mouth to speak. “To Narsis. I’ll do it.”

Nerevar blinked, taken aback, but then, quickly recovering, patted Vehk on the back. “You’re braver than I was at your age, you know?”

“Thanks,” Vehk replied stiffly. There seemed to be a knot in his breast that prevented him from saying or doing anything else, like embracing Nerevar and burying his face into his chest or spilling to him all Vehk had been feeling in the past few weeks.

Nerevar scratched the back of his neck ungainly, his mouth quirking into a grimace. “I… Vehk, listen, I’m sorry.”

The knot in his chest tightened. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, sera.”

“No, I just… I feel I’ve been neglecting you recently, and…”

“I’m not a child, or a plant, serjo. I won’t wilt if you don’t spend a little time with me,” Vehk smiled a bit too widely, and then jumped up onto his feet, making an about-face for the foyada back to the Zainab camp.

“Vehk, wait!” Nerevar grabbed him by the wrist. On pure instinct, beat into him from a tragically young age, Vehk flinched and whipped his hand from Nerevar’s grasp. Immediately Nerevar stepped back, hands up placatingly, and Vehk cursed himself, yet again, for acting like an animal. As if there weren’t enough reasons already for Nerevar to look at him with such hateful pity. 

In a small voice- Vehk didn’t think he could project any further than that- he said, “Can we talk… I want to talk later, if you don’t mind.” Later, he thought, when my skin isn’t crawling with hatred for the guttersnipe in me that has made me this way. Later, when I have the confidence I should have always had.

Nerevar looked as if he wanted to say something more, but gave up and trudged behind Vehk as the two returned to the Zainab yurts. The only sounds on their trip back were the mournful cries of Urchin. 

They were greeted by Sotha Sil and a few of the Ashlanders from Zainab. Sil had apparently been expecting Vehk’s answer when he and Nerevar returned, as he was waiting for them at the edge of camp. All the Ashlanders had gathered and greeted them with solemn bows and farewell gifts: a new spear for Vehk, new armour for Nerevar, and a pendant for Sil. Then they all slipped away to get on with work, or maybe to do something else entirely, mysterious as the Ashlanders had always been to Vehk.

All except one, that is. Alandro Sul, irritatingly, begged to come along with them, and even more obnoxiously, was directed to go to Narsis with Vehk by Sotha Sil. They were all sitting cross-legged 

“But what in Oblivion for?” Vehk complained to Sil. “He’s  _ so-” _

“Alandro Sul is a young mer, barely older than you. He is just as desperate to prove himself as you are, which means he will be a valuable and tireless protector and asset on your journey to Narsis. I’m afraid, Vehk, that it will be a long and arduous one: in order to conserve money to use as bribes for the Hlaalu, you’ll be going by foot and by ship, from Seyda Neen to Davon’s Watch. A trip that would be most difficult to make on your own, hence the inclusion of Sul.”

Vehk pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, but decided not to argue further. There were more important things to worry about. Now that they were really, truly leaving, he’d faced the fact that in Vehk’s heart there was an ache for Nerevar that he could ignore no longer. Despite himself, he had missed Nerevar so  _ much _ , even though the mer had always been right there with him; it had only been Vehk himself who’d been foolish enough to isolate himself. And now that they were going to part ways, there were only a few impossibly precious moments left to reconcile. He wasn’t going to let himself waste them like he had at the foyada. At the moment the mer in question was alone at his bedroll, methodically packing everything into guar-bags for his journey. Bracing himself, Vehk approached him hesitantly. Nerevar got up onto his feet, dusting his knees where he’d knelt, to greet Vehk with his customary smile.

“Did you need something?”

“I’m sorry too,” Vehk blurted. “For… for everything.”

“There’s no need to apologise,” Nerevar reassured him warmly. “But if I might, could I ask why you were avoiding me?”

“I don’t know. It was something stupid.” Suddenly too overwhelmed to say anything more, Vehk darted forward and hugged Nerevar tightly. It was a long, sweet moment before they broke apart. The knot in Vehk’s chest had unraveled, replaced by warmth that had been missing for too long.

“I’m going to miss you a great deal," Nerevar murmured, pressing his nose to Vehk’s forehead. 

“Me too,” Vehk whispered, relishing the feeling of Nerevar's reassuring presence, and was bitterly reluctant to break the moment.

He and Sul left for Seyda Neen a short while later, a bag of Sotha Sil’s books over one shoulder and his fresh, polished spear over the other, with Nerevar’s sword tucked safely in its scabbard at his hip. Sul seemed to know where to go, consulting a map every once in a while before leading Vehk through the foyada and plateaus. Vehk listened to the sound of the occasional cliff racer circling ahead, thankfully uninterested in pecking at the two young adventurers below. Then, finally, rock gave way to West Gash greenery.

The swamps of the West Gash, Vehk noticed, were filled with flowers that glowed a bright cerulean. He stopped at one particular murk-pool, examining a flower between his fingertips before gently plucking it and stowing it away in his bag, pressed between the first page and the cover of a book. 

“That’s a Coda flower,” Sul explained, puffing out his chest proudly. “The wise woman taught me about all the different plants of Vvardenfell. That one can make you levitate… and.... and what else?” But Vehk had already ceased to listen. Ecclesiastical words about beautiful blues and delicate petals sang in his thoughts for a time. 

Until, that was, Sul decided to quickly sour Vehk’s mood by pressing him for details about his fighting abilities.  _ How well can you fight with a sword? Are you any good with a bow and arrow? Ever had a go at a netch? Do you reckon you could beat me in a duel?  _ They were thrown at him like stones and taunts, the way the noble-children mocked him when they passed him by in the gutters. Vehk irascibly gave him terse answers until one particularly prickly question:  _ Did you even know how to fight before Nerevar, you know, took you in?  _ After that, Vehk pretended as if Sul simply did not exist. Once he’d realised that Vehk was ignoring him, Sul fell blissfully silent. By then, however, there was no hope of regaining his bubbly high from before, and Vehk sulked all the way til dusk fell.

Of course, as it always did, everything managed to get worse. That night, when they made camp in an abandoned cave, his mind painfully turned to that moment when he'd snapped at Nerevar that he didn't need protecting, or the awkward conversation on the foyada. All the pent-up frustration and the myriad of other feelings he'd had at the time seemed to have been aeons ago. Now all he could think of was the pathetic apology he'd given Nerevar, how they could have- should have- left on a better note. What if they never saw each other again? What if Nerevar was to die, out there, in those ashy wastelands where the Dagoths made their home? He should have never left Nerevar’s side. He should have never...

“Are you crying?” Alandro Sul probed, hesitantly approaching Vehk with a pitying expression on his face.

“No. Fuck off,” Vehk hissed. Sul recoiled sharply at his words, but Vehk could not bring himself to care. “I’m going to bed.” And with that, he curled up in his bedroll and pretended to snore until Sul himself had drifted off. 

Even if he had wanted to sleep that night, which he didn’t out of fear of nightmares, he couldn’t possibly have slept. Instead Vehk watched the clouds drift like tattered shrouds through the hollowly black night, tormented by dread and regret. His mind was trapped in a murk that, try as he might, he could not escape from. By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon, he was emotionally spent. He picked at his breakfast, made from bland dried pack rations, and set off at a lugubrious pace well behind Sul. Somehow, Sul was still as cheery and excitable as ever. At least this time he didn’t dare to ask any questions, after seeing the look on Vehk’s face when Sul opened his mouth to do just that.

Vehk was beyond exhausted by the time the pair reached Seyda Neen, which was, like all the other towns in Vvardenfell, much, much smaller than any of the towns and cities on the mainland. It was little more than a few shacks with a dock, which meant that traversing it to reach the dockyard took barely even a few minutes. Vehk collapsed in a nearby chair while Sul made the arrangements for them to take one of the ships to Davon’s Watch. He listlessly followed Sul up onto the docks and into the belly of the ship, falling deeply into a sleep plagued with nightmares from which he did not wake until many, many hours later. 

Alandro Sul, ostensibly to save money, had chosen the slowest, most dilapidated ship possible, which Vehk technically could not begrudge him for but did anyway. He ignored all of Sul’s occasional attempts at conversation, preferring instead to sit by the starboard and watch the waves, thinking of Nerevar. Vehk had never been on a boat before, and the eternal rocking motions, while somewhat soothing at first, quickly grew tiresome. The broiling nausea this created only added to his black mood, especially because it meant that he couldn’t even read the books Sotha Sil had given him out of fear of puking all over the pages. 

It was amusing, in some part, in how less than a week out on the ocean somehow felt interminable in comparison to the time he’d spent travelling with Nerevar. The scope of the Inner Sea was tiny in comparison to the decent portion of Vvardenfell they’d traversed, as well as Stonefalls and Deshaan. Yet watching ultramarine waves roll incessantly from the ship all the way to the intangible blur of the grey horizon only gave him a sick sense of dread, as if every wave was carrying him further and further from the last time he would ever see Nerevar’s face and hear his gentle baritone.

Unable to distract himself in any way from the worst of his fears, Vehk found himself spiraling deeper and deeper into them. It got to the point where Vehk searched for just about anything to escape the vicious cycle of remorse and guilt, whether it be trying to shoot cliff racers circling overhead out of the sky or playing pranks on hapless crewmembers, neither of which brought him any joy. He even considered talking to Alandro Sul, though quickly dismissed it upon hearing him boast of his own fighting skills to a poor fellow passenger on the ship. 

For the first time in years, he found himself praying again. To Mephala, as always; after all, she had marked him as one of hers even since birth. It was a rushed, probably presumptuous prayer; the Daedra would be just as likely as to take offence to it as to even heed it. Or, more likely, she would ignore it just like many of the prayers he’d offered up:  _ Please, Mephala, let me find a warm corner to rest against tonight,  _ or many variations on a similar sentiment. He’d never dared to ask for anything more, and especially not anything stupid and pointless, like begging her for his parents back. He had known that some of the other guttersnipes had done exactly that, and had wondered how they could face such crushing disappointment even knowing that it was coming.

This time he prayed:   
_ Lady Mephala, please please give me whatever it is I need to start being a little happy. Or at least- at least make me stronger. Let me impress Nerevar and Sotha Sil. Let me prove to them that I'm smart and capable and brave. If I can do that I can be happy. Please. _

Afterwards, he laughed at himself. The prayer wasn’t any less incredulous than the desperate ones those orphaned gutter-gets had made for their lost parents. He wasn’t any less piteous than them, it seemed, even now that he was far removed from that despairing arena of outcasts and broken things.

Strangely, though, that night, his sleep was for once a long and dreamless one.


	13. Chapter 13

They spent, in total, a week at sea. Vehk had so far been rebuffing Sul at every turn on the journey. While at first Vehk had determined that, in order to preserve his sanity, it would have to remain that way, on the fourth day out in the Inner Sea that changed abruptly. 

Vehk had been lounging on the deck of the ship when Sul had tripped on a slick morass of seaweed that had been flung onto the deck by a particularly sizable tide. To make things even more hilarious, Sul had been carrying a box of kwama eggs preserved in sauce to the cabin boys, desperate to curry favour in some way, or as he put it 'just trying to help wherever I can'. The kwama eggs, while emitting a delicious odor, looked less than appetizing as a heap of shapeless gelatin-like substance on Sul’s head. 

Upon laying eyes on the beautiful scene, Vehk busted out laughing, for the first time in weeks, and didn’t stop until long after Sul had first asked him to stop, then begged him, and finally threatened him with retaliation. Dodging Sul’s blows, Vehk wheezed with giggles until both of them grew tired of the sport and collapsed on the deck. After that, whenever Sul and Vehk crossed paths Vehk was met with a look of indignance. 

After the whole fiasco was over, Vehk found that the nausea had lessened somewhat, enough for him to be able to read books and write poetry again. He still had the occasional nightmare- he'd always had them, from when he was too young to remember much else- but he had long learned that keeping his mind busy was slower, but in the end just as effective as skooma. It quelled the acidic terror that ate away at him, whether the fear be from anticipation of draconian rationing set by the Nords, or from the worry that he would never see Nerevar again.  He would fill his mind with words from books and his own poetry until they crowded out the terrifying images and the whirling emotions. And whenever he could, Vehk would sneak in a prank or some sort of jibe at Sul, purely for the childish delight it provided. Slowly, his mood was lightening, bit by bit. 

By the time they pulled into port at Davon’s Watch, Vehk was at the prow of the ship, and cheered with all the other passengers as they finally touched land. Though his spirits were high, he did not go as far as Sul did, who made sure to bow reverently to the captain before he disembarked. For that, Vehk teased Sul, mimicking his bowing in an overly clownish way until Sul threatened to chase him to the city limits.

Davon’s Watch was bustling as always, and Alandro Sul looked rather like a scrib trapped in mage-lights as he turned his head frantically to take it all in.

“I’ve never seen any city this huge before. All the towns on Vvardenfell are small, you know, ‘cause they don’t allow real settlements there. Are the cities all this big on the mainland?”   
“Davon’s Watch is nothing. Just wait ‘til you see Mournhold. Everything there is huge, the homes, the towers, the markets, the temples to the Good Daedra. Mer get lost there all the time.”

Upon hearing that, Sul appeared positively afraid, which drew a snicker from Vehk. Before Sul could aim an insult at him in retaliation, Vehk grabbed his arm, linking it as if they were old friends. He sniggered as Sul, with utmost irritation, wrenched his arm from his grasp. “Come on, come on, let’s get to Narsis. We haven’t got all day.”

Stonefalls was not an easy province to surmount, especially without Narhil’s cooking to sustain them. But neither slowed down, or even began to complain. In fact, Vehk’s spirits were lighter than ever as they pressed forth. He counted the days passing on a scrap of vellum, only to remind himself of the new purpose Sil and Nerevar had given him. He composed poems every day, inspired by the towering cliffs and vividly scarlet lava flows. Every once in a while, to irritate Sul, he would sing them out loud as they traversed the plateaus and hopped nimbly across lava rivers. Sul later remarked that his cadence was like that of a ‘dying kwama queen’, which Vehk chose to take as a compliment.

The two teenaged Chimer were well-used to the difficult life of journeying; after all, one was an Ashlander scout, an incongruous constituent of a fire-singed and ash-worn people who, despite centuries of eking out an existence in the most hellish areas of Resdayn, were as hard as obsidian and sturdy as basalt. 

The other had no history and traditions to give him meaning and it was that desolateness that gave Vehk the will to press forward; his nameless existence as a guttersnipe teaching him gritty lessons Sul was blind to. How to go hungry for nights upon nights with no end in sight. How to summon forth fiery resistance when there were no coals in his heart left to burn. 

As a result of their fleet-footedness and youthfully unfaltering persistence, Vehk found that they managed to cross through areas in hours that Nerevar and his canvasari crew had taken a whole day to pass over. Though Narhil was not around to provide the two of them rich and filling meals thrice a day, Sul’s brazen insistence on hunting and cooking all of their food did prove useful. The meals were lean and not particularly tasty, but Vehk could still remember the tangible bite of true hunger and thus was not particularly put out by Sul’s rather unimpressive abilities.

“Antlers,” Vehk spoke aloud one night as Sul prepared a stew of shalk and hackle-lo leaf. He was laying on his back admiring the majesty of a stunning piece of land coral, glowing a vivaciously bright orange. 

“What is it now?” Sul grunted. He sneezed- thankfully into his elbow and not into the stew- and continued stirring. Vehk did not even deign to throw him a filthy look, so was he captivated by the coral.

“They look like antlers,” Vehk repeated. “The coral. Like those Indriks that were in a poem that Sotha Sil gave to me, written by an Altmer from Alinor. They look just like the drawings in the book. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Shut up and eat your stew,” Sul groaned, shoving towards Vehk his helping. “It would be really nice if you sometimes talked about things that, you know, made any sense.”

“Just because it doesn’t make sense to  _ you  _ doesn’t mean it’s nonsense,” Vehk rejoined. Sul rolled his eyes. “You should read these books sometime. Maybe it’ll help you stop being such a dullard.”

“And what in Oblivion is a dullard?”

“It’s a word I found in a novel recently. It means you have Khajiit dung for brains. Which is true in your case.”

“Gods, I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” Vehk fell asleep that night with a satisfied grin on his face. He dreamed of Indriks and Alinor, and foyadas traversed by lonely silt striders. When he woke he thought of Urchin and Nerevar, and was briefly melancholy until Sul laughed at him for having drooled in his sleep. For that, Vehk aimed a kick at him, earning a loud curse from Sul and a few traded insults. 

The fight was brief, and almost orderly in how both young mer fell back, quickly becoming more interested in breakfast than tussling. When their petty tiff was over and they were once again on their way to Narsis, Vehk had long forgotten about his dream, and Urchin, and his fears about Nerevar.

 

By the time they had finally reached Lake Hlaalu, both Sul and Vehk were more than ready for a rest from the constant traveling. They relaxed at the edges of the lake, bathing in the sun’s gentle rays, letting the cool water leach the aches and soreness out of their muscles. Narsis loomed from across the lake, half obscured by lake mist. Now that they were so close to their goal, neither Sul nor Vehk were in a hurry to reach it. 

Sotha Sil had laid out a plan for them to follow; it involved appealing to each of the four Hlaalu councilors that frequented Narsis: Avarys, Pravus, Salacyn, and Crudylis. The other two, Sil explained, were weaker willed and would do as the other four said. It would be Vehk’s responsibility to find a path to each one’s heart, and to then plant the seed of Nerevar’s worthiness there. Meanwhile, Sul had agreed to support the two of them by working odd jobs- mercenary work, alchemy, the like- in order to keep a fresh supply of dram flowing. This was particularly crucial, Sil had elaborated, as the Hlaalu were rather flamboyant and enjoyed flaunting their wealth. Acting similarly would quickly help them win Hlaalu favour. 

The only issue was that Sotha Sil had failed to explain  _ how  _ to find a path to each councilor’s heart. This was not particularly his fault, as Sil only knew the councilors on a skin-deep level, and even then only due to his position as a son of a former noble house.

“They aren’t all going to just- bow to me and do as I say if I pay them enough or suck them off,” Vehk had pointed out to Sil before they’d parted ways. “What am I supposed to do then?”

“I am sure you will figure it out,” Sil had replied gently. Then, less reassuringly, “And even if you fail, it is fine. We have plenty of time to realise our plans. It would only be a minor setback.”

“There won’t be any kind of setback,” Vehk had promised brashly. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Now that he was facing that unfortunate prospect, he could not bring himself to look it in the face. So he turned his head away from Narsis’s ghostly silhouette and towards the waterfall feeding the lake. It was streaming down in a sparkling clear spray with a cheerful splash, and Vehk let his eyes close briefly, relishing it. Focusing on the sounds, backlit by the comforting darkness of his eyelids, Vehk felt his pulse grow gentle and his breathing slow. There were times when he had done this in the past, when his life seemed to be crashing down around him all at once and there was no skooma or sex to be found. It would calm him, briefly, just long enough for him to get back to his feet and keep surviving. Until the nightmares came, of course. But here, by this waterfall, he thought he might be close to being alright. 

For a moment he was taken back to a simpler time, when he was a newly made daggerlad, delighting in frolicking at the river by Mournhold with his equally young crew of guttersnipes. He grinned, losing himself in a reverie, until Alandro Sul rudely broke the quietness.

“Shouldn’t we head to Narsis now? Before it gets too late? Best to head in when it’s still light enough out to see our surroundings, no?”

Unable to find any fault in this logic, Vehk rose to his feet with a grunt of irritation, once again hefting his belongings onto his shoulders. They forded the lake at its shallowest parts and emerged, sopping wet, at the entrance. Vehk used a quick Flames spell to dry the two of them, pointing out how ridiculous they’d look if they walked in looking like ‘swamp monsters’.

Standing at the gates, both willed the other to move first, but neither one was willing to do so. So they both stood still, suddenly gawkish, until a Nord guard stepped towards them threateningly. Memories of being berated and beaten for loitering by identical guards in Mournhold sent a chill through the otherwise warm air. Vehk quickly scurried past him into the relative safety of the main square facing the kinhouse, not even looking back once to see if his companion was following him. Luckily, Alandro Sul was huffing and puffing right behind him when they both skidded to a halt.

“You look like a wounded animal,” Sul commented, once he’d got his breath back. “The look in your eyes. Like a nix-hound pup with a broken leg.”

Vehk shook himself free of the fear. “I just… don’t have fond memories of the Nords, alright? Mind your own business.” 

“I didn’t care, anyway. I was just noticing,” Sul bit back. “Well? What’s our plan now?”

“We need to find somewhere to stay,” Vehk replied, putting a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm his heartbeat. “Like… a cornerclub. Or something. Narsis is bound to have an inn, right?”

Narsis ended up, for some strange reason, not having any sort of inn. All it had was a nondescript cornerclub that was as grimy as the one Vehk had first met Nerevar in, and unsurprisingly it did not offer rooms to sleep in. Once the cornerclub’s barkeeper had realised that they weren’t going to buy his ‘Special Kwama-Infused Shein’, he drove them out with a couple ‘n’wahs’ and ‘fetchers’ being slung out the door with them. 

Vehk sat on the stone steps to the cornerclub, kneading his forehead in a moment of dejection. “I hope that cornerclub goes out of business. Damned s’wits, the lot of them.”

“What are we supposed to do now? We can’t just sleep out in the cold,” complained Sul.

“We could murder some rich Chimer and take their house,” Vehk mused, laughing at Sul’s outraged expression. “Relax, relax, I was joking, you fuckin’ tender-arse milk drinker. You lot are so sensitive.” It was not lost on him that he would have had exactly zero qualms about murdering someone to take their house when he was a daggerlad in Mournhold.

“What in Azura’s name is a milk drinker?” Sul’s hackles rose immediately, and privately Vehk was glad for the distraction from their current failure at enacting Nerevar and Sil’s plans.

“Dunno. Something the Nords always said. Probably means something similar to ‘tender-arse’. I mean, both of them have to do with buggery, don’t they?”

Before the insults could escalate any further, Vehk’s eyes fixated on a Khajiit wearily dragging themself home. They were burdened with what looked like a huge load of laundry. For some strange reason, the Khajiit looked vaguely familiar. Sul followed his gaze and hurriedly yanked at Vehk’s arm, throwing both of them off balance.

“No! Don’t hurt that Khajiit!” Sul managed to yell out before Vehk crashed into him, and they painfully collided into the stone. As Vehk raised himself back up, groaning at the soreness, he saw that the Khajiit was looking up, and at them, and then he was looking into her eyes, and…

“Khovasi?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rly sorry for the short hiatus! ive just been busy as fuck with classes and im not producing as much content as id like to but nevertheless i hope u enjoy : )

“Hush!” Khovasi hissed. “Not so loud!” She hobbled towards them, somehow delicately balancing the laundry along the way. Vehk and Sul scrambled to their feet to greet her, Vehk taking the moment to elbow Sul hard. 

“I wasn’t going to kill her, you s'wit,” he hissed at him. “Fuck is wrong with you?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Sul replied harshly, quickly turning away from Vehk and straightening up as Khovasi approached them.

“What’re you doing here?” Vehk whispered once they were face-to-face. 

“I could ask you the same thing, little daggerlad,” Khovasi retorted, eyes darting around nervously. “But there are too many eyes and ears out here. Let’s speak privately.” Seemingly totally uncaring about whether not Vehk agreed to this proposal, she firmly grabbed him by the wrist- making him flinch violently- and led him towards a rather nondescript house a street downwind. Sul followed close by, clearly uncertain whether or not to greet Khovasi politely or to scream for help based on his silence.

Once she had ushered them inside and shut the doors securely, Vehk was caught off-guard yet again by the sight of J’Ram-Shei- another face he thought he’d never see again. The touchy Argonian had been hunched over a small jewelry table, tinkering with some locket. He stood quickly upon the sight of his visitors, gently laying the locket down with surprisingly nimble claws.

He scowled at the sight of Vehk and Sul. “So you dragged yourself all the way here, huh, you mangy scrap? Great. More mouths to feed.”

Nettled, Vehk opened his mouth to snarl a reply, but Sul beat him to the punch. “We never said we were going to stay here, Argonian. So there’s no need for the attitude. Now, will someone tell me what’s going on-”   
“Stop spouting such shit,” J’Ram-Shei interrupted, tail twitching. “You’ve got nowhere else to go and we all know it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sul shot back. “Just because we got kicked out of an inn doesn’t mean we need to be homeless, there’s plenty of options, we don’t need to stay with you. There’s-"

"-nowhere else for us to stay, is there?" Vehk capitulated, thinking of doors slammed in his face on bitterly windy and rainy nights in Mournhold. 

J'Ram-Shei harrumphed. "At least one of you has sense. I don’t know why that prick Nerevar sent you to Narsis, out of all the Oblivion-blasted places, but he should’ve known better. Narsis is a pit of snakes, Nord and Chimer alike. Nobody who has any kind of sense at all stays here long unless there’s money to be made off the backs of the poor n’wahs left behind.”

“But why’re  _ you _ in Narsis?” Vehk shot back, before J’Ram-Shei could continue his ranting. “I thought you lot all wanted to fuck off to Vvardenfell and live out your lives as farmers or something.”

“There was a change of plans,” Khovasi began, unexpectedly grave. “After you and Nerevar went on your death mission to Ald Sotha, the four of us regrouped, with the notion that we would leave for Seyda Neen on a boat at Davon’s Watch.”

“So where are the other two?” 

Vehk’s heart sank as Khovasi sighed deeply. 

“We were waylaid before we reached the docks. It seems that the Nord merchant Nerevar killed  _ did _ , in fact, have some friends. And they were beyond angry. They cornered us at night, where there would be no Chimer to even attempt to try and step in. They killed Narhil immediately. Thought he was Nerevar, I suppose. It was… bloody.”

Vehk sighed. He had almost expected it to happen. He’d known how vengeful Nords could be. But there was still a lump in his throat he had to force down as he thought of Narhil’s food and surprising gentleness, an incredibly rare kindness in the wilds of the Mournhold gutters. 

Khovasi peered at him closely, waiting for him to gather himself before she continued speaking. “They dragged Varda off somewhere. Probably dead by now too, I expect. J’Ram-Shei and I managed to get away in the struggle. There weren’t too many of the Nords left, thanks to that war they’ve been fighting over there in Skyrim. Otherwise we all would’ve been massacred, I expect.”

Vehk pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying accusingly,  _ Why didn’t you try to save Narhil and Varda? Why didn’t you fight?  _ He would have never even thought to say such things before he’d met Nerevar. In fact he knew he’d done the same thing- abandon comrades to the Nords- in order to save his own skin. Cowardice had served him well. 

“J’Ram-Shei and I made our way to Narsis, as far away from those Nords as possible. We used our gold from the caravan to purchase this empty house, and I’m waiting for my second cousin to take the two of us to Elsweyr. He’s coming here in a year on business matters and agreed to take us back. Until then we’re masquerading as a jeweler and a washerwoman to ward off suspicion. J’Ram-Shei goes by Pradesi and I go by M’thalla.”

“How do the three of you know each other?” Sul asked. “And I heard Captain Mora’s name- do you know him too?”

“ _ Captain Mora _ ,” J’Ram-Shei mocked. Vehk would have laughed at Sul’s expression had he not been quietly aching over Narhil and Varda. “Nerevar picked up this little runt in Mournhold. We all traveled together. The end."

"That's it?" Sul seemed crestfallen. "I thought it would be more… heroic."

"I'm no poet, boy," J'Ram-Shei retorted brusquely. "Don't know why you expected some song and dance."

"Funny how that works, eh?" Vehk put in, off in thought. "How you all thought going to Ald Sotha was suicide, but we certainly ended up better than you did."

"We heard about that through rumours at inns as we made our way through to Narsis," Khovasi mentioned. "How Ald Sotha was completely destroyed and some Chimer led a band of people to light a pyre of all the Sotha dead. The smoke rose for leagues, they said. Nerevar is quite popular around some parts for performing the death rituals when nobody else would."

"How'd it become common news?" Vehk asked. "Nobody else was around."

"The people he gathered with him to go to Ald Sotha were around," J'Ram-Shei pointed out. "I'm getting tired of small talk. Now, entertain us and explain why the pair of you are here in Narsis. Make it snappy. I need to have this locket done by tomorrow.”

As Sul, hesitantly, began to recount their misadventures, Khovasi pulled Vehk aside. In a low voice, she said, “You look troubled, child. I have some potions for the skooma-sickness. Ease the pain a little.”

“I haven’t gotten the shakes in a while,” he whispered back. “I never smoked as much as the others did. I wasn’t really addicted, it’s just- skooma holds you tighter than anything else I’d tried. Just one smoke would be enough to give someone jitters for a week.”

“Skooma scars your mind and your soul,” she explained. “It makes your happy moments brief and your depressed times much longer and deeper. There is no shame in it, child. No matter what others may say. It is a disease as surely as rockjoint and plague is.”

Vehk tried not to think about the implications of the permanence of skooma on him. He nodded his thanks as he took the potion from Khovasi, sipping on it as they listened to J’Ram-Shei jeer at Sul. It was bitter.

J’Ram-Shei seemed to finally be done poking fun at Alandro Sul and Nerevar. Now the Argonian sat in deep thought, drumming his claws together. 

“I still think it sounds stupid, mind you,” he said at last. “I think Nerevar and whoever that other elf was were setting you up for failure. But. I do know this. The Hlaalu councilors won’t be granting you any kind of audience if you don’t have some kind of great deed to your name. You’ll need to go do some heroics or something else foolish before they’ll even look at you twice.”

“What kinds of things should I do?” Vehk asked, instantly invigorated once more.

“Don’t you mean things  _ we  _ should do?” Sul cut in sourly. “I’m here too, you know.”

“You’re supposed to be doing some boring jobs in order to make money!” Vehk rounded on him. “Just shut up and let me take care of things.”

Before the argument could escalate, Khovasi physically separated the two teens with a forceful spell that knocked them both back. “Neither of you will be doing any kinds of heroics for now. You just got here, and what’s more, you both are as skinny as nix-hounds in a volcanic winter. Get stronger and smarter, and then focus on this task you have been set.”

“I fought Daedra at Ald Sotha!” Vehk fumed. “I can handle  _ myself _ -”

“You fought Daedra at Ald Sotha with Nerevar,” Khovasi replied coolly. “Now you are on your own, a young Chimer who has yet to even reach adulthood. You are not with one of the most powerful and capable fighters in Resdayn any longer.” Vehk turned scarlet. “Give your body a chance to fatten itself up. Give your mind a chance to sharpen itself. And the same goes for you too, boy,” she sniped at Alandro Sul, who had been snickering at Vehk’s humiliation.

“Don’t get yourself killed, like idiots,” J’Ram-Shei concurred. “Now, as much as I hate to say so, stay with us until you lot figure yourselves out. Looks like it’ll take a while, anyway. I ‘spect that you’ll be here long after Khovasi and I have escaped this hellhole.”

Defeated, Vehk had nothing left to argue. Instead, he only said, “Well, can we make dinner? It won’t cook itself and I’m starving.”

“I can do it,” Sul volunteered instantly. Vehk stopped himself from snorting dismissively at the last moment. “I’m a great cook.”

“Sure you are.” J’Ram-Shei yawned. “Personally I don’t give a shit about who does it as long as it’s done. Both of you had better be up bright and early tomorrow though. Khovasi and I both could use a great deal of help with our work, and since you’re going to be squatting here for the time being you may as well earn your keep.”

Vehk made no complaint there either. It was more than reasonable, and he could well remember all the times he’d heard the stories about the other gutter-gets: the ones who, down on their luck with prostitution or thievery, had attempted honest work. But nobody was willing to hire street trash for fear that their Chimer peers would look down on them for daring to do such a thing. They would have told Vehk to ‘ _ Never look a gift-guar in the mouth’.  _ In fact, they probably would have gotten on their hands and knees in front of J’Ram-Shei and beg for the chance to have this kind of life.

Vehk, personally, had never bothered with chasing the skoomerpipe dream of honest work in his time in the gutter. He’d always insisted, both to himself and to others, that he would rather die than grovel. And now, here he was, managing to have clawed his way out without the help of either.

They retired early that night with the rough encouragement of J’Ram-Shei, Khovasi and Alandro Sul’s food hot in their bellies. Vehk stayed awake long after Sul began to snore on the floor across from him. He stared up into the shadows nestled in the curves of the arched roof, thinking about Narhil, Nerevar, Narhil, Nerevar, until the two names blurred together like softened lines of wooden beams melting into the dusky light of sunset. His dinner curdled in his stomach as he squeezed his eyelids shut, willing sleep to come. When it finally did he dreamed of a myriad of vivid images that flashed before his mind, ending with a silhouette of a spider burned into his vision, an ash afterimage of artwork that had met a fiery demise. 

As promised, the next morning J'Ram-Shei had the two of them bustling around the house heating water and collecting charcoal among other chores. Vehk yawned frequently and continuously rubbed sleep out of his eyes, furious at himself for the insomnia and shallow sleep of the night before. It was not until he had wolfed down the gelatinous saltrice porridge that Khovasi had stirred for half an hour- just long enough to ensure that any flavour had seeped out of the rice- that he finally began to feel awake. 

The second he was done eating, Khovasi whisked him away and flung a pile of greying clothes at him to put on. As he dressed, she explained briskly what his new role was to be: an anon washerwoman's assistant. He would rub his knuckles raw forcing stains out of clothes (and maybe use a little magic to ease the work). Additionally, he would smile prettily and use his charm to eke out a few extra sixth-drams from the old ladies whose laundry they collected. 

"But these clothes don't make me feel at all pretty," Vehk complained. "How am I supposed to be convincing?"

"Well, you'll just have to make do, won't you?" Khovasi responded tersely.

That first day, the washing he was given was light, and he snuck a chance to talk to Alandro Sul. J'Ram-Shei had him running unrefined materials such as silver and lapis lazuli from the smith, where he was given gold to buy them, to the house, where the Argonian would take them off his hands to work with. It was between one of these harried trips that Vehk caught him. The Ashlander was soaked in sweat and gasping, mopping his brow.

"I only ran this much in the most urgent missions as a scout," Sul panted, dropping to his knees. "How's work going for you?"

"Terribly," Vehk responded shortly. "Listen, this might be kind of a stupid question, but… Do you really think we'll succeed?"

"At what? I think I'm succeeding pretty well at lugging this stuff." Sul scratched his jaw as he stood up.

Vehl rolled his eyes. "Are you trying to be dense or something? Gods, I obviously meant the whole thing where we convince the Hlaalu to support the Hortator claim."

"Oh." Sul shoved Vehk's shoulder, half playfully, half in annoyance. "Yeah, that is a stupid question. Of course we will! Stop wasting my time, I'm trying to earn our keep here, thanks."

After a quick exchange of 'fetcher' and 's'wit', Vehk returned to Khovasi, who was setting utensils and food ingredients up for dinner. That night, Khovasi explained, they were to have mudcrab stew with a heavy helping of saltrice. Without protesting the sheer lack of ingredients- Khovasi's stormy expression made Vehk far too afraid to do so- he set about cracking crab shells as directed by her. It was slow, methodical, and ultimately incredibly prosaic; Vehk's thoughts quickly turned to the conversation/insult exchange he'd just had with Sul.

As the two fell back, watching mesmerising vapours rise from the gently bubbling soup, Vehk nudged Khovasi. 

"Do you think we're ever going to succeed at the task we were sent here to finish?"

Khovasi took her attention off the stew for a lingering few seconds to grant Vehk a pitying look.

"No."

 


	15. Chapter 15

The work Khovasi set out for Vehk was not easy. Having elderly women coo over Vehk's 'lovely long eyelashes' and 'smooth golden skin' and 'adorable cheeks' was tolerable enough, but actually washing the clothes he was given was much less so. More importantly, it was  _ boring.  _ Vehk sorely missed adventuring with Nerevar. The fighting! the glory! the incredible landscapes they'd trotted! Now he was reduced to little better than a pauper, washing out stains from who-knows-where from undergarments. It was humiliating. 

The only consolation he had now was Sotha Sil's books and his own poems. As time passed, his poems drew further and deeper into pure fantasy, distant from the realm of reality, metamorphosing from odes to nature to glorious epics. While he scrubbed away, his mind was elsewhere, reaching into the planes of Oblivion in Sil's tomes. The otherworldly beauty of Moonshadow. The delightfully gothic horrors of the Spiral Skein. And himself at the centre, always the undaunted hero, basking in the adulation she deserved. But he was brought frequently and harshly to reality as his hands and fingers developed blisters and calluses in places he'd never had before. It was an endless cycle, as the harsh lye and gritty rock wore away at any skin that had managed to toughen up. Some days he was too sore to write down the words in his head; he would instead fall deeply asleep after tottering into his bed. Then he would wake up irritated with himself, with everyone, with the entire situation he had found himself in.

Despite himself, though, every day the work got a tiny increment easier. Though the food continued to be less than the delicious fare he'd come to expect from Narhil, he was finally eating meals three times a day regularly. Now that he had settled into a more sedentary lifestyle, the slow process of turning him from a skin-and-bones scrib of a teen to something resembling a proper Chimer sped up. Not only was he eating more, he was also bathing every day using real, actual soap, and it showed. His features softened tangibly; his body grew curves and padding where there hadn't been any; his skin- apart from his poor hands- was now as silky as a courtesan's. Far more visibly to Vehk, however, was the resurgence of his moon-bleeds. Once irregular and light, they returned every month now, like clockwork. Khovasi noticed, of course, and said not a thing, apart from offering him cotton gauze and murmuring a few tricks on how to get blood stains out of undergarments. 

It didn't surprise him, how more feminine he was feeling as time passed and he developed. For brief moments in his past, when he was making real money, not just scraps, as a prostitute, he'd felt beautiful and unstoppable. Though he didn’t feel nearly as powerful washing clothes, there was no denying he felt different.

On Vehk’s eighteenth birthday, he told nobody that it was, in fact, his birthday. Vehk wasn’t sure if Khovasi or J’Ram-Shei even celebrated birthdays, and he knew that if he told Alandro Sul it would just devolve into yet another one of their arguments.

So, like most things, he kept the fact of her birthday to himself. He scrubbed away til late afternoon with the sun bearing down on his back, phasing from a gentle warmth that soothed his skin to an angry fierce heat that stung. Then it was time for sparring with Sul. They had made a little game out of it, playing at being powerful warriors after their exhausting workdays. Though there had been no discernible progress when it came to Sotha Sil and Nerevar’s plans for them, Vehk could at least count the mounting bruises on his torso and arms to make himself feel better. The aches could almost serve as an illusion of growth in martial disciplines, if it weren’t for the fact that Sul won nine out of ten of their bouts. Now that Vehk wasn’t facing half-starved gutter gets or lawless untrained bandits, but instead going up against a boy- a man- who had been trained for years to fight honourably but decisively, he found that his luck ran out fast.

It being Vehk’s birthday had no effect on the outcome of the fight; as usual, Sul had him on the floor, gasping for breath, after only five minutes of a furious back-and-forth. Vehk’s fingers were so tightly closed around Nerevar’s sword that he had to painstakingly pry them off. 

As he got up slowly and miserably, dusting his knees and arms off, Sul remarked casually, “It almost feels like you’re holding yourself back, you know? Like you’ve gone and convinced yourself that there’s no way you can win against me. You shy away when you should aim for a strike. You flinch and lose your balance. I don’t get it, honestly.”

“How are you not even out of breath? S’wit,” Vehk spat, hefting Nerevar’s sword over hus back and retreating to the house. There he scrubbed himself down, with harsh and porous grey pumice rock and oils, trying, almost, to erase the defeat that hunched his shoulders to create a beautiful pale slate. He let himself soak in the tub for hours, breathing in the heady vapours of steam and woodsmoke and oils that mingled with each other in the thickening air. 

Through the single window in the bathroom he looked up and out at the Deshaan plains, green grass and purple plants slowly eclipsing colours to reflect the sunset. There was a poem to be made there, but his head was too jumbled to think of it. He wanted sex. He wanted skooma. He wanted alcohol. Whatever it was that could remove his mind from the dark little crevice it had been ruminating in. 

Ever the gutter-get, he had long memorised all the places that J’Ram-Shei and Khovasi stored their money. After he got dressed, a few nimble fingers in select drawers netted him enough money to buy himself enough drinks to get fucked, but not as much as to draw the attention of the Argonian and the Khajiit. Then he slipped out, unnoticed as always, drifting in and out of shadows as he passed under street lamps and moonbeams scattered by haze. 

The cornerclub was filled with just enough people as to make it not feel lonely, but at the same time not feel uncomfortably packed. To Vehk the pickpocket this would have been terrible: just enough people to notice a crime happening and be able to stop it, but too few for Vehk to disguise himself amongst the throng. To Vehk the miserably law-abiding citizen, however, it was perfect. He tapped his fingers and asked for a bowl of sujamma, leaning forward to inhale that sharp and slightly acrid aroma of alcohol when it was set in front of him. Sujamma was not a drink that was meant to be sipped, and Vehk hardly had the patience for such an activity anyway, so he took wildly unmeasured gulps until he felt pleasantly buzzed. Then he kept drinking until his head was in a sluggish haze and every thought seemed to come through like an echo across a vast canyon. 

It was only after he had plied himself with such a gratuitous amount of sujamma that he noticed the strange fellow sitting next to him at the bar. He appeared to be a bosmer, but there seemed to be… were those horns? And his eyes were such an odd colour, Vehk had managed to half-convince himself that he was a sujamma-induced hallucination until the wood elf spoke.

“These mortal mer really don’t know how to brew a proper drink, wouldn’t you say, my dear Baron?”

“Who’re you talking to?” Vehk slurred, for there was nobody next to the Bosmer save for Vehk himself. But before the mysterious wood elf could respond, they were interrupted by the head of the very angry Nord bartender thrusting itself between them.

“WHO was it who insulted the fine alcohol we serve at this place?” the man roared. Flecks of spittle adorned his scratchy, dirty ginger beard. “I’ll have at ye, whoever it was!”

Vehk pointed at the Bosmer. Incredibly, the Bosmer pointed at Vehk right back. 

Before Vehk could protest this incredibly unfair shift in arrangements, the Nord yanked Vehk up against the bar by the front of his blouse. Vehk was now so close to the man that he could count all the food bits stuck between his yellowed teeth.

"You mer filth think you're so much better than us, eh? Let's see you gloat when I teach you a lesson the old Nord way!" And then he was lifting Vehk up by the scruff of his neck like Vehk was nothing more than a mangy nix-hound pup. 

Next, all Vehk could remember was knowing that he had to  _ escape, now _ , and then his hands were aflame, whirling with months of pent-up anger and frustration and bitterness, and blasting the man against the wall. Vehk watched, dumb, as the man’s head hit brick with a horrifyingly loud crack, and he slumped against the wall unmoving. All of the patrons’ eyes were on Vehk. It seemed everyone was too shocked- or maybe too afraid of Vehk- to say anything. 

That is, until Vehk heard slow clapping from behind him. He whirled around to see the odd Bosmer laughing out loud.

“Yes! Excellent work! This is precisely the kind of thing I was hoping to see on my little sojourn to Mundus!”

“Er, what?” The adrenaline seemed to be sobering Vehk up faster than a bucket of the iciest water.

“Have you never met a demiprince before, little Chimer? You appear remarkably unafraid. A good trait for warriors, I find.”

“A- a demiprince?” Vehk could have sworn that Sotha Sil had mentioned such a term before, but he could not for the life of him remember what it meant. “Who… what are you?”

The demiprince drew himself to his full- rather unimpressive- height. “My name is Fa-Nuit-Hen, the Multiplier of Motions Known, Prince of Maelstrom. I haunt those warriors who fell and still wonder why. And tonight, I have graced you, whom I have deemed a respectable pool of talent, with my presence.”

“So you aren’t mortal?” Vehk asked, watching the patrons scurry out from the corner of his eye and already dreading the inevitable beating, or worse, by the guards.

Fa-Nuit-Hen’s eyes followed Vehk’s gaze, and laughed. “Ah, don’t worry about them. The moment they leave this little cornerclub they’ll have forgotten all about what happened inside. Same for that barkeep you just took down in such an admirable fashion.”

“What? How?”

“My dear young warrior, I am a demiprince! Whatever I envision inevitably comes true. You  _ do  _ know what a demiprince is, yes? Don’t they teach you such things in schools?”

“Only nobles’ children go to school,” Vehk retorted sullenly. “I’m lowborn.”  _ Lower than lowborn. _

“Ah.” Fa-Nuit-Hen was not deterred in the slightest, it seemed. “Well, despite your unfortunate upbringing, you do show quite a lot of promise in fighting! Whether or not you show the same promise in academia, I cannot say, but… well… not all of us can be Psijics, can we? Anyway, I wanted to thank you for allowing me to have a glimpse at some fighting! It’s been a while since I’ve seen any outside of Oblivion. I have a gift for you, as a reward.”

“Do you have gold?” Vehk asked hopefully. 

Fa-Nuit-Hen’s lip curled. “Daedra have no use for such material, mundane things. But I can offer you something much better! I can offer you the opportunity to  _ really  _ learn how to fight. I can teach you with the help of my Barons-Who-Move-Like-This.”

“Barons who move like what now?”

“Barons-Who-Move-Like-This! They are my incredible creations. Dremora, of course.” Vehk winced at the word ‘dremora’, which Fa-Nuit-Hen blithely ignored. “I have poured my very animus into them. They are wonderfully quick on their feet and even quicker with their wit. With them, you will learn all the fighting styles there is to know! You will bask in glory!”

“I don’t know,” Vehk mumbled, circumspect. “I’m only really good with a spear. I could never get the hang of a sword, or anything…”

“Because you learned the wrong way, clearly!” Fa-Nuit-Hen asserted, hands on hips. “Under me you will have no such limitations. I will be staying here in this little town for quite some time; I am typically most partial to Wrothgar, but Resdayn is a nice change of pace! And if I were you, little elf, I would use this chance wisely. So, what do you say?”

Vehk was silent. Then, a smile growing on his face, he said, “When do we start?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sotha sil is now canonically a lightweight sorry i dont make the rules

It was a hazy, foggy afternoon, with grey skies dully shrouding the mushroom-towers of Tel Aruhn. A young mer with a sharp goatee and hair pulled sleekly back into a short ponytail studied his gauntleted fingers, choosing to be mum instead of interrupting the vigil of his old friend. 

Divayth Fyr stood there, tall, thin, and yet utterly unimposing, like a young knobbly-legged riverbird. The doorway he was standing in had been carved, most likely with magic, out of a fearsomely huge stalk of fungi. It led out to a little balcony made of some woody material that smelled faintly musty. It was here that his friend had chosen to linger, for hours at a time, going without food or drink for days on end. Divayth Fyr prided himself in keeping the appearance of being a wholly un-harried mer, but there was no denying that Sil’s actions as of late had made it difficult for Divayth to focus on his studies.

Sotha Sil was more haggard than ever, long white strands of hair falling like streams of ash into his wan face. His expression revealed nothing about any turmoil broiling within, so decisively neutral it was. Divayth estimated that Sil had been standing here, watching the waves pull and push rhythmically against the city’s foundations, for around three hours and twenty-two minutes. 

Finally, Divayth let the pious silence shatter. “You have been out here for a long time.”

Sil turned, slowly, wearily, to him. “I have, yes. Three hours and twenty-four minutes, to be precise.”

Divayth made a mental note to adjust his chronometers. “I am glad to see that you are enjoying the scenery of our city. Not many people come to Tel Aruhn and Necrom for sight-seeing, but personally I find Telvanni architecture far superior to Indoril or Hlaalu architecture.” He shut his mouth, suddenly deeply aware that he was babbling.

Sil, however, took no notice. “The ocean here is so different from Ald Sotha. It is all greys and shadows. At Ald Sotha the sea is bright and cheerful and full of song. You remember, don’t you? I brought you there before.”

“Yes.” Divayth’s eyes twinkled. “When the Psijics sent us on that mission to seal rips in spacetime, correct? But you chose to skive off work and whisk me away to your hometown. That was the only time you ever broke any kind of rule in the time I’ve known you.”

“I only did it because I’d engineered a fast, automated way to seal the rips, remember? And I had conjectured that using my method would leave us seven hours to relax. It wasn’t  _ skiving. _ ”

“Too bad your method turned out to only be a temporary fix, so we had to go out there and do it properly a week later.”

“Yes, well. How did you enjoy it at the time? I know you are used to more grandiose domiciles, but…”

“It was quaint. And lovely. It was lovely.” Divayth’s expression then darkened. “You already know this, but I’m… I’m sorry you lost your home.”

“As am I,” Sil replied quietly, and then turned his head to watch the waves again. The heavy silence returned, for a few minutes, until Divayth remembered suddenly why he’d come out. Fumbling with the platter in his hands, he cleared his throat.

“I brought you something.”

Sil’s head turned, so that his elegant profile came into view. He peered at Divayth with one golden-brown eye. “Is that vintage brandy I smell? And a lovely platter of kwama eggs too. Thank you, old friend.”

“Shan’t you come inside to enjoy it?” Divayth wheedled. “I hate to admit it, but the way you act these days does concern me.”

Sil shook his head. “Your worry does honour me, but I must stay out here for a little while longer.”

“But why? Surely the whipping wind makes it difficult to concentrate on meditation?”

“Yes. You are correct in assuming so. But I am not here to meditate. I am here for a more earthly reason, I suppose. Rather than to please the soul, I am here to soothe the thoughts that have been torturing me for days.”

Divayth let the platter of eggs and wine leave his hand, perfectly balancing it in midair between the two mer. “I was sorry to hear that my lord father turned down your suggestion regarding the outlander. From how you described him, he seems to be a well-accomplished mer. Of course, I am always partial to mer who are well-read and appreciate the importance of the magical arts.”

Sil’s grip tightened on the railing. “Have you ever lost anyone, Divayth?”

“You mean to the curse of mortality? Not personally, but in my studies I have seen death in many forms and ways. It is a natural part of the cycle of life."

"No. I am sorry to inform you, but you have yet to truly see death for what it is. I came to know what death truly is when I lost my entire family in one fell swoop. Death is ugly. It is horrific. There is nothing natural about it most of the time, save the few of us blessed enough to pass in their sleep at a ripe old age."

"I will miss your sister, Nall, greatly," Divayth responded softly. "She was an admirably bright young talent."

"She was." And here, Sil finally turned completely away from the sea, looking at his friend full in the face. "It should have been me. Not her. But she is dead and I am still, somehow, alive. There are many things I am certain of, but the answer as to why I live and she doesn’t still... evades me."

"Perhaps the Daedra believed you were sent here for a greater purpose," Divayth offered weakly. "Many heroes are chosen in such a way."

"I am not a hero, you know that, Divayth. I am a wizard, nothing more. The day Dagon attacked, Tamriel lost a mer with a fiery spirit, unafraid of any challenge, stronger than the most battle-hardened Nordic warrior. 

Had the world been able to keep Sotha Nall, it may have had the chance to retain not only an accomplished mage but a true hero. But as for me? All I want, as childish as it is, is to go back in time. To when my chest did not feel as if it were sinking to the bottom of that sea." He pointed towards the waves. "Being out here, it… it lessens that feeling."

“If it is still so difficult for you to cope with your emotions- which I don’t blame you for, of course, it would have horribly affected even the most detached and powerful mage- I can only admire your fortitude when dealing with the outlander and the little daggerlad. What was their name again?”

“Vehk.” Sil smiled slightly when he said the name. “And it was easier then, when I felt I had a chance at succeeding at what I believe I am meant to do.”

“And what exactly is that?”

"It is why I have gone from being a studious mage to an… an  _ adventurer- _ ” Sil grimaced at the word- “and why I have gotten myself involved in politics when it is so shameful for us mages to do so. It is because I want nobody to suffer the way I have, ever again. And I believe Nerevar can make that happen."

"That's very… heroic of you," Divayth responded carefully. 

"No, old friend, it is not. I am no hero. I am just sad, and angry, and most of all afraid. Afraid that I will never make things right. Afraid that I will never be able to avenge Nall the way I should." 

"Did- did you see? Her moment of death?" Divayth asked, in a hushed tone that held back equal amounts of morbid curiosity and cold fear.

"No. And for that I am truly grateful. I was asleep when Dagon attacked. I'd been up late studying, you see. I missed most of the battle as a result. By the time I had stumbled clear of the wreckage, everyone was already… already…"

Divayth winced. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." They both glanced elsewhere, the moment growing heavier than a cumulonimbus cloud. 

"Brandy?" Divayth asked finally. Sil nodded gratefully, and drained the entire bottle in three gulps, barely even pausing for air.

"That was probably unwise," Sil mumbled, dabbing at the corners of his mouth. 

"By Boethiah, yes it was! Sil, you shouldn't do that to yourself; this is horribly potent."

"Yes." Sil slumped against the railing, and Divayth, forgetting any reservedness, ran to catch him, holding him awkwardly in his arms. "But it is already... making the guilt and failure all go away, see?”

"That’s a very mundane way of thinking, Sil!" Divayth admonished him. He stumbled slightly, already out of breath. “You’re better than that, I know you are. You are the most brilliant young mind the Psijics have seen in an age!”

“But not enough.” Sil croaked. “Never enough.” The platter of untouched eggs clattered to the floor, ignored by both mer. Then Sil closed his eyes, and Divayth found he was suddenly supporting Sotha Sil's entire weight instead of just half of it.

"Sil! Sil!" Divayth called, sinking to his knees, holding Sil tight against his chest. But his old friend was already dead to the world.

  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being mia but corona rlly got me out here evicted from college and im hella isolated now which means yay new chapters! but also rip author's personal life!

Eight months had passed since Vehk and Alandro Sul had arrived at Narsis, each month marked by a polished, curated poem that Vehk had written on fresh sheets of vellum and carefully bound into the back of one of Sotha Sil’s books:  _ Fall Of The Snow Prince.  _ There was something about the tragic, honourable, bloody ending of the piece that made Vehk want to wax romantic. Thus, it was that book he chose to bestow upon the honour of his own special addendum to it. 

The first five poems, of course, were dedicated to Fa-Nuit-Hen and his barons: the grace with which they moved, the beauty of their swords as bright as a warrior’s daimonion, the swiftness of their feet. The next poem was an ode to the beauty of the Resdaynian Sun’s Height, and how everything, then, teemed with light and hope and glory brought forth by harsh golden sunbeams. The seventh poem was a lament- using a bowl of water with a hole in the bottom as metaphor- for how even those fighters who learn from the best and fill their minds with knowledge of battle strategies can lose to others. 

But the final, eighth poem was dedicated solely to victory. Victory that had been wrought thirty times against a peer, Alandro Sul, once a day for an entire month. It was coincidentally this ballad that Vehk cherished most, enough to read it out loud to Sul the night he finished editing it. Sul, of course, was not at all amused.

“You were just lucky,” Sul scoffed. 

“Lucky for a whole month?” Vehk asked, batting his eyes innocently. Sul shoved him, making Vehk fall over onto his other prized artifact. 

“Fuck you!” Vehk snapped, suddenly furious, gingerly lifting the leaf of vellum he’d fallen on and combing it for any rips. “If you’d made me rip this letter, I would’ve kicked your arse.”

“You and your dumb letter,” Sul grumbled spitefully. “Captain Mora didn’t write  _ me  _ anything.”

“Obviously, because you’re irrelevant.” Pleased with the lack of any deformations in the letter, Vehk gently placed it back into his bookshelf, from where it had apparently fallen earlier. 

It had arrived a few months ago, addressed to ‘a slender young mer in Narsis of shorter than average height, dark hair and dark eyes, who may go by the name of Vehk’. When Vehk had seen the name of the sender-  _ Mora Nerevar, _ written in bold, neat handwriting- his heart had soared. His hands had shaken so much while unfurling the vellum, he’d had to wait until he calmed down before trying again, out of fear of harming the letter.

_ To my  _ kena,

_ I hope this letter finds you happy, healthy, and safe in Narsis. I find that, here in Kogoruhn among the Dagoths, I think of you more often than not, and sometimes at the strangest times! For example, today Lord Voryn- a good friend of mine, and a trusted advisor- told me of the new initiative Kogoruhn is spearheading, where they emphasize an education based in painting, sculpture, and poetry. Voryn tells me that those who can appreciate the finer arts often show promise in magic, and that if House Dagoth is to support me in my endeavours they must have a large pool of young mages ready to fight. Anyway, when he said that I thought of you and Sil’s reading lessons together. I expect you’re more than capable of reading this? You always were a bright young mind. Perhaps I will ask Voryn to lend me some books from the Kogoruhn libraries to give you.  _

__ _ In case you couldn’t tell already, the plan on my end is quickly coming to fruition. I have visited, and been made ashkhan of, one of the Ashlander tribes in northern Vvardenfell already. The Urshilaku have been surprisingly accommodating; they have been craving unity and stability for some time, I think. The wise woman tells me that she is to take me to a mysterious cave, said to be blessed by Azura herself. I am nervous yet excited to see what the cave beholds. _

__ _ I’m sorry to report that Urchin the silt strider did not make it on the arduous journey to Kogoruhn. Though it had healed its wounds admirably, it was attacked by kwama warriors when we strayed too close to a kwama mine. I could not save it in time, but I did get a few more scars for my efforts. In honour of Urchin, however, I have taken it upon myself to care for injured silt striders in my spare time, using the techniques the Zainab taught me. Perhaps when we meet again I can introduce you to some of the silt striders that have taken a particular liking to me. They, too, remind me of you. _

__ _ If this letter reaches you, please make sure to send one back to me to ease my worries about your well-being. I miss you very much. _

 

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ _ Love, Nerevar _

__ Despite Vehk’s best efforts, the letter was beginning to show wear and tear: its corners curled like a dying insect and were as browned as an old apple. He’d read it almost religiously since the day it had arrived. His own half-written response, which he’d been concocting for months now, lay in a messy pile on the windowsill. 

“Are you ever even going to send a letter back?” Sul asked, lounging on a ratty pillow now. “If I’d gotten a letter from him I would’ve sent one back on the same day I got it.”

“It needs to be perfect,” Vehk insisted. “Don’t you have someone to go annoy elsewhere? Leave me alone.”

Sul opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by J’Ram-Shei bursting in, unannounced as usual. This time was different, however. The Argonian was breathing heavily, clothes in tatters, gripping a blacksmith’s hammer like a weapon.

__ _ “ _ What in Oblivion happened to  _ you? _ ” Vehk asked immediately, hand automatically straying to Nerevar’s sword. “What, did you sass the blacksmith too much or-”

“They’re coming for us.” J’Ram-Shei was now rummaging through his belongings with shaking claws. “I need to go. I need to leave. Where in the  _ fuck  _ is Khovasi why isn’t she home gods damn it the one time I fucking need her around-”

“They?” Sul echoed.

“You moron. You fucking moron. The Nords. They’re camped outside the city. They know who I am. They’ve been hunting us this whole time. Tracking us like prey.”

“How’d they figure out who you were?”

“Banded together with a group of bandits that know me. Found out from one of them who got cold feet. It doesn’t matter anymore. They come tonight.”

Alandro Sul burst with a cornucopia of questions, but Vehk waved him away. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of them.”

J’Ram-Shei scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh- actually? You know what? Go ahead. Go on. Clearly despite Khovasi’s best efforts you’re determined to commit suicide one way or another. You have my blessing. Now get the fuck out of my way.”

Once he had stomped out, Sul turned to Vehk. “Normally I’d say, ‘You can’t be serious’, but I know you and I know you’re serious about this. So, I’m in.”

“What? No you aren’t.”

“Yes, I  _ am _ ,” Sul insisted. “You need me. You can’t take them all down by yourself. But you and me, together? We’ve got a fighting chance, I reckon. Anyway, even if you say no, I’m still going to follow you down there, so you might as well not waste your time.”

Vehk growled under his breath. “Fine. Let’s plan it out. I think we should attack at twilight. Catch them off guard. Attack the bandit group together, then split up for the Nords. Divide and conquer.”

“Earlier than twilight. They might get excited and leave early. Sunset. Maybe then we can catch them while eating dinner. They’ll be even less prepared.”

“Deal.” Vehk grudgingly gave him a nod. “This’ll be great for the Hlaalu, you know? Everyone loves a hero. Take care of those bandits for a nice boost in my social standing.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Sul scratched his head. “Aren’t we doing this to protect J’Ram-Shei and Khovasi?”

“Obviously,” Vehk repeated, nettled. “I’m just being pragmatic too, alright? Gods. You and your weird need to be all heroic and good and shit.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Whatever. Now isn’t the time to argue! Come on, loser. Let’s go kill some Nords.”

The sky bled a vivid reddish-orange as Alandro Sul and Vehk hiked toward the cave where the bandits and the Nords had made their camp. As always, the now-familiar feeling of gutworm-like battle nerves roiled in Vehk’s stomach. He focused on breathing and the feeling of the ground pressing up against his feet as he took a step by another step. And then, confidence surged up in him, just as he instinctively knew it would.

 With a battle cry, he and Sul charged the bandits that had only seconds earlier been enjoying their supper. Vehk laughed aloud. It was so easy, like he was a force of nature- the wind from the west- ripping through the bandits one by one. He was no longer the nameless damaged street urchin. That facet of him had been burned out of him by Fa-Nuit-Hen so there were only the faintest traces left. He was Vehk, anon a Daedric Prince’s student. He was strong. Nobody could hurt him ever again.

Sul followed behind Vehk as he sauntered into the cave, sword now slick with the blood of broken men and women. The cave was honeycombed, with two or three bandits cropping up in each little pocket in the rock. As they cut through each group of low-lifes, they left behind eerie red paintings on the cave walls: bold scarlet lines complemented by splatters, like abstract art. Fa-Nuit-Hen would have said they were beautiful.

The Nords were at the end of the final tunnel, waiting silently. But another was there too. Khovasi was bound by thick ropes, trembling violently as one of the Nords held a sword to her throat.

“I thought you Nords were too honourable to hold hostages,” Alandro Sul spat. 

“Not all of us are ready to go to Sovngarde yet. And those of us who were willing to die to take revenge have already departed for there, anyway,” the Nord holding Khovasi replied, a dark chuckle hiding behind his words. 

“So, you two cut down all the bandits. Not bad for a couple of scrawny Chimer. I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna work. There’s an exit behind us. We’re going to leave through it, and your pet kitty here will be left unharmed.”

“Deal,” Sul replied instantly. “By Ashlander code, I would gladly lay my own life down, but I will not risk the life of a friend.” But Vehk scoffed.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ -” Sul said sharply, but Vehk was already unsheathing Nerevar’s sword, holding it out in front of him like a blazing torch.

“You Nords are all the same. You pretend you’re honourable and then you turn right around to attack the ones who can’t fight back. I put up with that shit for seventeen years in Mournhold. You’re even more stupid than I thought if you really think I’d put up with it now.”

“Vehk, no!”

“Last chance, kid,” the Nord snarled. “Put your sword down and nobody needs to get hurt.”

Vehk laughed, and the laughter turned hysterical as he watched steel slice across Khovasi’s throat and watched her topple to the ground, innocent blood staining the floor. They all died after that, in a blur of red that felt like a drug-induced blackout. 

And then it was over, and Sul was shaking him and screaming at him, and all Vehk could see were Nord guards kicking ten-year-old orphan Vehk and fucking fifteen-year-old whore Vehk and he laughed because they were gone now, they were dead, and he was stronger than them at last.

“You killed her!” Sul shouted, and Vehk returned to his senses abruptly. “You- because of your fucking pride- you taunted them for no good fucking reason- you killed Khovasi!”

The whirling emotions inside of him came to a screeching halt. “No, I didn’t!” Vehk retorted, suddenly realising that his hand, slick with blood, had let go of Nerevar’s sword by the end of the melee.

“We could’ve saved her. They weren’t worth killing. And then you- you-” 

Vehk felt bile rise in his throat as he saw the sword in pieces, lying in a puddle of Khovasi’s blood. “No! You’re just too damn stupid to see that they would’ve killed her anyway. You don’t know anything! That’s why he never wrote you a letter!”

“ _ Don’t bring the captain into this! _ ” Alandro Sul roared. “You think you’re so  _ special _ because he saved you from being a plague-ridden slum skeever your whole life. But it’s only a matter of time until he sees that you can’t ever really change. Like all the other thieves and scum of the earth, all you care about is yourself. All you care about is hurting others!”

“Fuck you!” Vehk screamed, filled with so much fury that white spots briefly danced in front of his eyes. “I never needed him, or you, or  _ anyone _ ! I was  _ meant  _ to be powerful! And someday I’ll be much,  _ much  _ more powerful than him. But you? You’re  _ nothing.  _ You’re  _ worthless.  _ So get out of my sight before I do the world a favor and kill you!”

Sul stared at him for one long moment. Then, wordlessly, he pushed past Vehk and disappeared behind the exit to the cave. 

Shortly afterward, unable to bear staying next to Khovasi’s body any longer, Vehk returned home. 

It was dark, and, as Vehk already knew it would be, empty. Sul was long gone, then. Probably heading back to the Ashlanders, where he belonged. Silently, Vehk made himself dinner, watching the stillness of the darkness all around him. He cleaned up the dishes. He washed himself of all the blood and grime.

Next to his makeshift bed, he found the letter he was writing to Nerevar. Before he fell asleep, he methodically tore it to pieces.

  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

“Master Vehk, Lady Hlaalu Avarys shall see you now,” the Chimer manservant said politely, giving a clipped bow. Vehk nodded, mustering as much pomp as he could in Khovasi's finest clothing, and headed inside the noblewoman's inner chamber. 

Avarys was a trim young elf, possibly in her forties or fifties, with impeccable makeup that sparked a twang of jealousy in Vehk- only someone bedazzlingly rich could afford such quality makeup- and dressed in a very complicated outfit. Vehk thought he counted over fifty tiny sapphires on the front of her dress alone. 

“So. You’re the young, dashing hero who rid Narsis of that pesky group of bandits.” Avarys smiled. Her lips gleamed crimson, and the colour dragged Vehk back to Khovasi’s blank dead eyes and her blood on his hands. 

Vehk coughed, silently regaining his composure. “I am, yes.” He gave her a winning smile. “I would gallantly lie and tell you it was no trouble, but I must regretfully tell you the truth. It was a rather harrowing experience.”

“As long as no hairs were harmed on that pretty little head of yours, hm? Wouldn’t want a face like that to be marred by any scars.” Avarys nodded sagaciously. “My uncle Pravus and close friend Salacyn have taken notice of you, you know. In fact, I find it curious that you came to me first. You may find it easier to…  _ persuade _ them of anything you might need.”

“Perhaps I just like the challenge,” Vehk replied, subtly tapping the sack he was carrying against his thigh. He watched as Avarys’s eyes widened just slightly upon hearing the clink of flasks of flin knocking against each other. 

“Shall we get to it, then?” Avarys said, but there was a new shine to her eyes. “What boon do you wish for me to grant you, ser? A house? A lordship? A lovely wife, or dashing husband?”

Vehk laughed delicately. “I am here for none of those. I am here, in fact, on behalf of my cap- my friend. Lord Mora Nerevar. A noble mer whose only fault might be that he works too hard to preserve the land of Resdayn. His goals are identical to mine, and should align with yours as well: he wants to drive the Nords from Resdayn, once and for all."

Avarys seemed to barely be listening. “Will you indulge me by showing me what’s in that cute little sack of yours?” 

“Ah,” said Vehk, a toothy grin forming on his face. “I had hoped you would enjoy my present, milady. This-” and with slim nimble fingers he untied the sack- “is the finest-grade flin, scavenged from the bandits’ loot. Worth  _ thousands  _ of dram, I’m sure.”

Avarys held out her manicured hand, and Vehk presented the flin along with a little curtsy. She tilted her head and smiled widely. “I will consider your proposition. I suppose you will have to convince all four of us councilors, hm?”

“I suppose I will,” Vehk replied politely.

“Then, because I like you, I’ll give you a little warning. Lord Pravus and Lady Salacyn will not give you any trouble, but beware Crudylis. You will need more than money and that lovely little body of yours to win her over. And, if you should fail, you might never venture past the outskirts of Narsis again. Crudylis is… vengeful.”

Vehk did his best to ignore the chill running down his spine. “I’ll- I’ll keep that in mind. My lady.” He bowed again and backed out.

Days later, he slipped into Lord Pravus’s bedchambers. It was pitiably easy to seduce the old mer, just as he’d predicted: he only needed to whisper the lord’s name throatily, and Pravus did the rest of the work. Vehk sighed as he felt Pravus’s thick rough hands on him, cupping his curves, dragging his thumb down his sternum. He thought, for a second, of Nerevar, and almost immediately felt a hot spike of hatred and shame drive through him. After that, the sex lost any appeal to him, and became just a game to him, one he was far too used to playing. 

The affair with Pravus took two months in total to bear fruit. Once Pravus had finally agreed in a moment of post-sex bliss to do as Vehk asked, Vehk was gone without a moment to spare. He seduced Salacyn the same night, letting himself relax in her arms when they were done for only moments before slipping away. 

Every night he found himself reflecting on the fact that there seemed to have been a chasm opened up inside of him where all his emotions had fallen through, with only the thin satisfaction of a job well done and the simple pleasures of sex to fill it. And deep, deep, deep inside the chasm was dark, writhing guilt, and the million and one things he felt for Nerevar, and hundreds of other feelings that he wished would disappear altogether. 

As the days passed, and he grew closer and closer to holding the power of all four Hlaalu councilors in his hands, his wish became closer and closer to being true. The intensity of the memories of Nerevar, Sil, Sul, and Khovasi faded until they were naught but dreams. After another half year, he realised he was finally beginning to get good nights' worth of sleep every night. 

Salacyn toppled after three months. All that was left, now, was Crudylis.

 

When Crudylis finally agreed- after coin was slipped into the right hands numerous times- to give Vehk an audience, Vehk spent the entire morning getting ready. He chose a trim, but pretty outfit: accents of black and red defined his style today. But most importantly, three daggers lined his clothing: one against each thigh, and another hidden up his sleeve. Vehk was not going to take any chances today. 

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," Crudylis began. Her voice was high, thin, and cold, like an air current at the top of a mountain. 

Vehk bowed neatly. He had not bothered to bring any riches with him; from the considerable time he'd taken to gather intel, trinkets and gold had no effect on Crudylis, unlike her weak-willed counterpart Avarys.

"And it is my pleasure to finally meet you, as well." Vehk rose gracefully to a standing position, almost unconsciously re-balancing himself to prepare to fight.

"Let us save ourselves our precious time by cutting to the chase. I know why you are here; I have been awaiting your arrival for months. You wish for me to elect this interloper, Mora Nerevar, as leader of the Chimer. That is correct, yes?"

"Yes, but-"

"I'm afraid it won't be happening." Crudylis nodded, a drop of smirking pity in her tone. "You see, I much enjoy the Nords right where they are."

“What exactly do you mean by that, my lady?” 

“Let me explain to you what nobility, as Chimer, really means. At the heart, we are little better than nix-hounds, fighting to the death to rise above one another, masked in a gilded facade of refinery. You become surrounded by enemies. And how do you get rid of these enemies?”

“Murder,” Vehk responded, nodding approvingly. 

“Precisely. And what easier way to accomplish it than with a bunch of violent brutes running the country? The Nords make it almost too easy. ‘I hear whispers that Fingolden harbors anti-Nord sentiment.’ That is usually all it takes. And unlike the other buffoons leading my House, I fight to maintain its glory. I have more enemies than all of them combined. So, I’m afraid I must refuse you.”

But Vehk’s smile grew wider, and in his eyes, for a moment, something predatory manifested. “My lady, I must apologise, but I think you have forgotten something.”

“Pray tell.”

“War. Imagine the possibilities, Lady Crudylis. Entire clans who have wronged you swept away by being sent to the front lines. There would be no need for subterfuge. You say this cloak-and-dagger game you’ve been playing is almost too easy? War would make it child’s play. By the time the dust is cleared, your enemies, their families, and their friends could all be dead. And this war with the Nords would be a long, gory, bloody one. There will be ample opportunity for you to do your work.”

Crudylis was silent. Then she began to clap slowly. “You show brilliance that many of my contemporaries sorely lack, young elf. I will be watching you. I’m curious to see how much of your potential you will grow into.”

Vehk’s smile tightened as he thought of how hearing this praise from Crudylis was like hearing praise from Nerevar, but a Nerevar that was looking at him from a dark, warped mirror. 

“So, you’ll do as I ask?”

“Yes, yes.” Crudylis waved her hand. “You are dismissed.”


	19. Chapter 19

Mournhold was every bit as magnificent as Vehk had remembered.

And every bit as grimy and filthy, he noted with disgust, as he watched scum pooling between the cobblestones of the streets. He hastened his step.

Sotha Sil had sent him a brief letter instructing him to make his presence known to the newly-coronated queen Indoril Almalexia, and that Sil himself would be waiting at the palace for him. So before the taste of his victory at Narsis had even begun to leave his tongue, Vehk had packed his bags and traveled across Deshaan. The numerous alit, kagouti, and other foul beasts, as well as the roving gangs of bandits and rogues were no trouble to him.

 It was amusing to think that only a few years ago, the city urchin Vehk was too petrified to ever venture past the city limits because of such petty enemies. Now that he was a seasoned adventurer, he’d travelled quickly. In fact, he was half hoping that Nerevar would be at the palace with Sil, so that the older mer could marvel at how efficient Vehk was.

But Nerevar was noticeably absent when Sotha Sil greeted him at the front door. He was tall and thin as always, and his hair was just as long and snow-white as Vehk remembered. 

“You look as pretty as always, Lord Sotha.” Vehk bowed.

Sil grimaced. “Please, save yourself the pleasantries. I have been exchanging them for months and at this point am violently sick of them. We are friends, are we not, Vehk?”

Vehk chuckled, and on impulse, hugged Sil. Sil froze, momentarily, and then hesitantly returned the hug, patting Vehk on the back gently. Safe in the knowledge that Sil couldn’t see his face, Vehk let himself smile hugely. This had been the first time he’d hugged anyone since he’d left Nerevar. 

When they broke apart, Sil smiled slightly at him: his version of one of Nerevar’s big loving grins. Vehk noticed quickly that his posture was much less stiff than it had been. “So how was your mission with the Hlaalu? Was it successful?”

“Absolutely it was,” Vehk responded, jutting his chin and meeting Sil’s eyes proudly. “It was no trouble for me. Honestly I would’ve gotten it done much faster if Sul hadn’t held me back.” Sul’s name still tasted bitter in Vehk’s mouth.

“Is that so?” Sil responded, a little wry. “I shall make note of it then. But now we are moving on to a new phase. The Queen has agreed to take you in as a sort of lady-in-waiting. It is a prestigious position that many would die for. You will hear many whispered secrets and become knowledgeable about a cornucopia of goings-on that few else could be privy to. I am only to be present until Almalexia receives you, which will be happening shortly. After that, I must return to Nerevar; we are still sorting things in Vvardenfell.”

“So what’ll be my role here?”

“Nerevar, once he gains a little more power and gathers more followers, will come to Almalexia with a marriage proposal. Until then, you will absorb as much information as possible. I trust you to be able to sift through what would be pertinent to us and what would not be; you have more than proven yourself as an agent at this point.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Good.” Sil’s expression softened. “Nerevar will be glad to hear that you are safe. He has been greatly concerned for you ever since you left his sight."

A familiar ugly thing twisted in Vehk's chest. "You can tell him I'm doing fabulous. Better than ever, if you couldn't notice."

Sil raised an eyebrow, and Vehk did his best to meet the mer's probing eyes, ignoring the now years-old dull ache in his chest. Finally, the scholar averted his eyes, with a long-suffering sigh. "For such a young mer, you really are impossible to understand sometimes. But, no matter. The Queen is due to meet you now. Would you like me to walk you to her chambers, or..?"

"Won't be necessary," Vehk cut in firmly. "I suppose I'll see you around, then?”

“I suppose you shall,” Sil responded, and was gone in a half-turn and a swish of his robes. 

With his former teacher gone, Vehk’s gilded bravado sublimated away bit by bit as he walked down the suddenly foreboding corridor to the queen’s chambers. He drew in a sharp breath, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin haughtily as he closed the gap to the intricately carved door. 

Then, in a voice sounding far larger than he himself was, he announced, “Queen Indoril Almalexia? May I have permission to enter? I was bidden to come here as a new lady-in-waiting.”

Too smoothly to have been done by anything but magic, the door slowly swung outward. And inside was the most beautiful woman Vehk had ever seen. The last time Vehk had seen the queen was a faint memory of a shining princess bathed in the light of fireworks. Here, in the flesh, her beauty was enthralling, from her fiery red hair to her dazzling smile all the way down to her gilded, armored feet. 

"I had heard you were coming from Sil. Old acquaintances, he and I. I knew him briefly long before I was coronated. But enough about him. Tell me about yourself. How much experience do you have as a handmaiden?"

"I… None," he confessed, kicking himself for his honesty. Something about her warm and inviting expression simply drew the truth out of him.

Almalexia laughed. "That's fine! Half of the girls I employ have been in training for years and still manage to mess up their jobs. You're more than cute enough to make up for your lack of experience. Come, I'll have them teach you the basics of the job. I'm sure you'll fit right in in no time."

 

He didn't fit right in. Vehk was still rugged and comparatively ungroomed next to the girls he worked with, and it didn't help that his sleep was plagued by nightmares, these nights mostly of Khovasi. His frequent bouts of night terrors did not endear him at all to the girls he had to share sleeping quarters with. It wasn't long until he noted them shooting angry glances at him and refusing to include him in their idle gossip.

And yet, it was Vehk who, having heard her cries and whimpers due to his own fear-induced insomnia, rushed to the new queen's bedside and soothed her in the throes of her own nightmares. He stroked her lush hair and murmured soft gentle things until her breathing slowed and she fell back to sleep. She was even more gorgeous with her eyes blissfully closed, face free of the day's stresses.

The third time it happened, Almalexia stirred, and before Vehk could leave, encircled his waist with her arms and pulled him in close. He lost his balance and fell across her chest, his face inches away from her own. Before he could scramble up and away with rushed apologies, Almalexia grasped his hands in hers.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered in his ear. “I cannot stand being alone these frightful nights any longer.”

“Of course, my lady,” he murmured, settling against her. They fit together like two broken halves of a stone; jagged edges matching, somehow, perfectly.

“You were a daughter of Mephala in the past, were you not?” Almalexia asked him. He could feel her lips moving against his forehead. He snuggled in against the sensation.

“A whore? Yes. Why, have the other girls been gossiping?” 

“Probably. But I can tell. You are so young- twenty, if I remember correctly- and yet you are a natural at the art of touch. Some people never master it. Your hands and fingers feel to me like they have already had years of practice.”

“Does my youth bother you, my lady?” Vehk smirked as he thought about his oldest clients back in his years as a whore. Many had been old enough to be Almalexia’s father. 

“Not at all. There  _ is  _ a line I do not cross, but you have outgrown it. Besides, this new suitor you’re close to, Mora Nerevar, is eighteen years my senior. I could hardly fault myself for finding someone attractive who is at least closer to me in age than he is.”

“It’s unfair,” Vehk mumbled, a little drowsy. 

“What is?” 

“He’s so old, but  _ so _ good-looking.” Vehk pouted. “When I’m his age I’ll probably have half my nose cut off in all the battles I’ll have weathered.”

Almalexia snorted. It was a very unqueenly sound. “Some mer are just born perfect. I’m sorry to inform you.”

“Aren’t you one of them? I have to admit, you two would be a great match. You’ve always been beautiful. Everyone talks about the new gorgeous queen, even back when you were a princess.”

“What a flatterer you are,” Almalexia replied with a grin. “I should promote you to my court already. You’re born to the job.”

Vehk tittered. “What can I say? I’m a mer of many talents.”

“So it seems.” Almalexia rolled away, but her hand snaked out and dragged a finger lightly on his cheek. “Thank you for soothing me tonight. Tomorrow he is due to come visit. I musn’t show up with two matching eye bags. They aren’t exactly the epitome of beauty.”

Vehk’s heart sped up. “I- what? He is?”

“Yes. Why? What’s the matter?”

“He didn’t-” Vehk stopped himself just in time from saying, poutily,  _ He didn’t write me _ . As if Nerevar owed him anything. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll be looking forward to greeting him. Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, Vehk.”

 

The next morning, Vehk found himself shirtless and alone in Almalexia’s ridiculously comfortable bed. It seemed the queen had been long gone, off to play politics and sweet-talk nobles: all things that Vehk was admittedly intrigued by. But he just wanted a few more moments in this bed, audibly sighing as he sank into the mattress.

Then he bolted up. Nerevar! Nerevar was coming today! He glanced at himself in the gold-tinted mirror that took up an entire wall in the bathroom adjoined to Almalexia’s quarters, raking his fingers through his hair as he quickly shrugged on his simple silk top all handmaidens were expected to wear as uniform. There was no time for makeup. Snarling out a breath onto his hand, Vehk sniffed it before recoiling and gargling rose-scented water from the basin in the bathroom. Then he sped down the stairs of the palace, heart racing, mind hoping…

And there was Nerevar. He looked as if he hadn’t aged a day, dyed-white hair glinting from the light of his handsomely carved armor and eyes sparkling as he bowed to the queen. Vehk stood, mesmerised, before realizing that Nerevar had noticed him. His former mentor looked up at him, and Vehk grinned and opened his mouth to tell him all about his adventures, and then-

Nerevar looked back away. He knelt to kiss Almalexia’s hand, and the queen laughed, the sound cloying to Vehk’s ears. He felt as if somebody had knocked the wind out of him. And in that moment, he promised himself he would never let that happen again. Nerevar and he were no longer the way they used to be; their relationship had been poisoned years ago by Vehk’s hand, and the faster Vehk got used to that, the faster he would get over this feeling that his center of gravity had simply fallen away.

It was probably for the best, anyway.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Vehk breathed out softly as he admired his slightly warped reflection in his bathroom mirror, inlaid with gold leaf and somewhat steamed up from his recent bath. He had let his hair grow out, as long as it used to be, shaved on the sides and pulled into a glossy black ponytail. His lips were tinted a deep pinkish-red, the colour of diluted wine. His eyes were dark and smoky with the help of kohl. Subtle contour and touches of eyeshadow brought his sharp features into focus, making his jaw and cheekbones pop. 

The clothes he wore, made of fine spider silk, was gossamer beneath his fingers and was a nearly translucent off-white contrasted against teal and green. Even idle passerby could easily make out his lean, muscled and yet soft body underneath. It was cropped in a way to show his abdomen, just as sculpted as the rest of him, with low-cut billowy pants that impishly revealed to all his iliac curves.

He was beautiful. 

Queen Almalexia said so, when she saw him emerge from his chambers. She was dressed all in gold, satin tresses belied by ornate armor that nearly glowed in the light. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and then on his lips, biting down slightly before pulling away. The sensation made his heart quicken.

"Even on your wedding day, my lady?" Vehk remarked, amused. "Lord Nerevar would be  _ very  _ cross."

"I'm nervous, Vivec," the queen responded with a coy smile. Then, a note of poison entering her expression, she continued, "And it isn't as if he isn't…  _ relieving stress _ with that liege lord of his even as we speak."

Vehk delicately put a hand to his chest, faux-offended. "Lord Voryn Dagoth is far too honourable for such a thing. In fact, his whole House is so far above the rest of us in honour and nobility that I'd be surprised if they chose to besmirch themselves by attending this ceremonial matching of their lessers."

Almalexia laughed, then sighed, throwing herself down on Vehk's bed in a rather unqueenly fashion. "He loves me, though."

"He loves everyone," Vehk replied dismissively, spritzing himself with Telvanni bug-musk. "That's why he's the only one out of us to be good enough to be the Hortator. The rest of us are far too ugly in both body and mind. Excepting you, of course, my lady."

"I know. But I- I love him, despite it all." Almalexia caught Vehk by the waist, bringing him down onto the bed next to her. "Sometimes I wish we were lowborn. Maybe everything would be simpler then, instead of being so... complicated."

"I was lowborn." Vehk turned to look at her. "I promise you, there would be nothing for you in that life."

“Oh, my apologies, it passed my mind. You are so noble in mind and in the way you carry yourself that I would be pressed to find anyone who could guess your true origins.”

“Well, it isn’t something I’m at all ashamed of.” Vehk smiled tightly. “The fact that many in the court mock me for it only bolsters me, fortunately.”

“I should hope so. Had Lord Dagoth said even half the things he said to you at our last war council to  _ me _ , I would have slapped him. Once Nerevar and I are married, I shall ask him to check his pet advisor’s tongue.”

“I’m sure he already does,” said Vehk in response, coyly, to deflect from the painful subject at hand. He rose from the bed and, with a little curtsy, offered his hand to Almalexia. “I know it has been years since I have served you as a personal handmaiden, but allow me to do just one thing. For old times’ sake.”

Almalexia tittered, for a moment appearing to be a sweet little teen instead of the wily woman hardened by brutal politics she truly was. “You were the prettiest one I ever had, you know. Though you spent more time flirting with me than doing your job. Whose idea was it to have you be employed by me? Sil’s?”

“Lord Nerevar’s, actually. He always preferred me away from the action when I was younger.” Vehk scowled as he concentrated on reapplying Almalexia’s lipstick, which had been wiped off on Vehk’s own lips earlier. 

“What changed, then?”

Vehk shrugged. “I grew up. And he saw me take down three Golden Saints singlehandedly during one of our raids.”

“Only three?” Almalexia’s eyes sparkled mischievously. 

Vehk rolled his eyes as he put away the make-up. “You and Lord Nerevar are so similar sometimes. It’s like your relationship was written in the stars.”

“Poetic as usual, I see,” said the queen, accepting Vehk’s hand and rising gracefully to her feet. “The hour of the wedding is already nearly upon us. Where has the time gone? Oh, I hope it all goes well.”

Vehk gave her a crooked grin. “Just because a wedding is political doesn’t mean it can’t be fantabulous. You look beautiful, and I’m sure your groom-to-be is looking very handsome too.”

Almalexia bit her lip. “I know it’ll be perfect. I’m marrying the most handsome, capable, charismatic mer in all of Resdayn! I suppose the only way it could be any better is if my parents were here to see it. Which I suppose they are, in the form of ancestor spirits, but I mean, well, physically alive to see it.”

“At least they are still with you spiritually. Some mer don’t even have that small comfort,” Vehk muttered. Then he said, more loudly, “Well, for this next part, I’m afraid I’ll have to turn you over to your current handmaidens. As a retired one, I’m very much uninvited from the proceedings. I shall see you in a short while when the ceremony begins. Take care, my lady.” He curtseyed again, and watched as she vanished with a slight look of trepidation dawning on her face. With a sigh, he, too, let himself get whisked away to the huge space where the wedding was to be held. 

It was glorious, but he already knew that from the many times he’d passed by the laborious construction of the wedding hall. Golden statues representing Almalexia’s- and Nerevar’s, but mostly Almalexia’s- ancestors adorned the walls, all throwing orange and red light across the place due to the sacrificial flames lit under each one. 

More importantly, the food appeared to be absolutely delectable: ash yam loaves, beetle-cheese soup, grape-glazed bantam guar… The Mournhold servants appeared to have properly emptied out all the larders for the occasion. Vehk had been ‘watching what he ate’, as Almalexia had been scolding him about for years, less because he feared for his weight and more because he knew that every idiosyncrasy he possessed, down to his table manners, were now heavily scrutinised. Noblemer who knew of his heritage simply frothed at the mouth to search for hints of the lowborn savagery he had apparently carefully hidden beneath a guise of highborn attitude. 

But today would be a good day. Today he wouldn’t care about their judging looks. After all, two of his closest friends were getting married! If he didn’t indulge today, then when would he? 

The proceedings went by terribly slowly. There was much reading of religious texts and worshipment of ancestors. It didn’t take long before Vehk became bored out of his mind, retreating into his thoughts to compose poems. It wasn’t until his fifth revision of the line ‘ _ Guilt as heavy as a kagouti _ ’ that Nerevar and his bride-to-be finally appeared. 

He was just as attractive as Vehk had predicted he would be, dressed in simple but elegant finery that emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful arms. His face was as ruggedly handsome as always; the years he had spent gaining enough power to become Hortator had barely touched it. The only difference was a little scar that framed his golden-brown eyes just so, which served to bring his features more into focus. Because everything always worked out perfectly for Mora Nerevar. 

_ Indoril  _ Nerevar, Vehk’s internal monologue corrected himself. Something about that didn’t sit right with him. Perhaps it was time for him to distance himself from Almalexia. Spending too much time with her might be causing this strange… confusion, or whatever it was within him. Their closeness had been noted by many a mocking noble, who, when wanting to send a jibe in Nerevar’s way, would mutter about how the Hortator couldn’t even keep his wife-to-be out of the hands- and chambers- of his own general. 

Nerevar had never confronted him or Almalexia about it. Was it because he had too much ill-founded faith in the two of them? Or was it because he simply didn’t care? And yet, today, it was plain for everyone to see the genuine love in the bridegroom’s eyes as he gazed dreamily at his bride. The moments they shared during the ceremony as it dragged painfully on were, in a word, magical. 

Vehk hated it. 

Just as he had convinced himself to keep his distance from Almalexia for at least a few months, Nerevar’s eyes found Vehk in the throng for just a few precious seconds. And then he realized. He wasn’t suffering during this ridiculously pompous wedding because of Almalexia. Something in them clawed at Vehk’s heart so painfully, he knew that instant that he could not bear a second more of the ceremony. And so he disappeared.

The river that ran through Mournhold was just as filthy as the rest of the city, but Vehk hadn’t cared in the slightest as a gutter-get, drinking from it and swimming in it readily. Because why care about dirty water when the skooma was bound to kill him anyway?

Now, he cringed at the sight of the water. As if he was somehow better as a person than he once was. As if he weren’t as empty and helpless as he was back then. Swallowing his disgust, he sat and let his legs dangle in the river as if he were still twelve years old. Memories rushed back to him. Days where he’d wanted to just give up entirely and let the river swallow him. Nights where patrons left him hurt and humiliated, a split lip or worse: taking out their anger at themselves on the prostitute they’d hired to lay with. Months of starvation. Years of hopelessness.

The darkening sky above, though, reminded him of a different time. It reminded him of that fateful day in Davon’s Watch, when he’d been given the chance to escape with an incredible bounty of gold and never look back. When he could’ve chosen the easy life, the life that he’d been dreaming of since he could dream. 

When he’d thrown that chance away for Nerevar. 

As if he’d summoned him by his thoughts, Nerevar’s hand painfully clamped down on his shoulder. The newlywed was breathing heavily, mouth set in a hard line.

“Why aren’t you enjoying your first night with your new wife?” was the first thing Vehk could think to say.

“What in Oblivion were you thinking?” Nerevar wasn’t shouting, but it was obvious that he was making a great effort not to do so. “That was a huge embarrassment for the wedding, having my best general disappear in the middle of the ceremony. It makes you look childish, and it makes me look ineffective as a leader. Why’d you do it?”

“It’s not as if they aren’t gossiping about you and Lady Almalexia already. And your pet Dagoth,” Vehk shot back. “Why does it matter if I don’t want to attend a wedding that’s half farce anyway?”

Nerevar visibly reddened. “What’s gotten into you recently? No- it isn’t recent. You’ve  _ changed.  _ Ever since you left for Narsis. I’ve heard the strange stories that Alandro Sul told me about your conduct there.”

“If you think I changed,  _ my lord _ -” Vehk spat the last two words- “then clearly you don’t know me at all. I was always this way.”

“No. I refuse to believe that. And even though everything seems to have been screwed up between us somehow, I hope you know I, well, still love you. I never stopped.” The Hortator suddenly looked crumpled, defeated. “How can I make things be like the way they used to be?”

“You don’t love me. Not in the way that matters.” Vehk stood up to leave, but Nerevar caught him by the wrist.

“How can you claim that when I’ve done so much for you-”

“By Mephala, don’t you dare talk about what you’ve done for me. Haven’t you noticed how much my life has been dedicated to you, how all my decisions ever since we met have been made in your honour? How can I make it any more clear to you, my lord, in what I mean by that? Why do you think I left your wedding?”

“I-” And then, the gears clicked into place in Nerevar’s head, and his lips parted in surprise. “But I... I’ve never seen you in that way.”

“I know.” Somehow it was both terrible, and good, that Vehk had finally admitted it to himself. And that Nerevar had answered in the exact way Vehk knew he would.

His captain looked stricken, mouth still open as if trying to think of something to say. But then, Nerevar’s grip slackened on his wrist. Vehk violently pulled away, feeling as though shards of broken glass had settled in his chest. 

Finally understanding that there was nothing left to say, Nerevar backed away, and then turned his back and trudged off, abandoning Vehk. Vehk watched his silhouette diminish into the distance, wordlessly, with only the worst pain that he’d ever experienced to keep him company.

_ Someday, Nerevar,  _ he vowed to Mephala.  _ Someday, I will hurt you as much as you’ve hurt me.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this is the end of this story and this series! if you enjoyed i highly recommend that you check out the other work in the series, it functions as a sequel thousands of years in the future with the Nerevarine. to all the homies who commented about how they love nerevar and vehk's relationship, im sorry it had to end this way but cmon you all knew this was coming. (spoiler alert: vehk does a Very Bad Thing to nerevar later in life)


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